


A Year in the Countryside

by nztina



Series: The Countryside and Other Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Some Swearing, The Cotswolds, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/pseuds/nztina
Summary: Hermione Granger has had enough of Rita Skeeter and the rest of Wizarding London watching her every move. The Wizarding world's sweetheart packs up her things and relocates to a tiny town in the Cotswolds in order to escape prying eyes. She's ready to embrace a year living a quiet life of reading her favourite books, making friends with her neighbours, and most importantly, not running into anyone she knows.She is only two days into her new, quiet, very normal life when she finds herself face to face with the very last person she ever thought she'd see at a farmer's market: Draco Malfoy.Chaos, calamity and general hilarity ensue!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: The Countryside and Other Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830613
Comments: 645
Kudos: 593
Collections: The Dramione Collection





	1. Alone At Last

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! 
> 
> I'm starting a long, multi-chapter Dramione story and it's going to be one of those fluffy, adorable fanfics. I don't have a wide knowledge of the English countryside, but I've created this fictional town based on the few towns in the Cotswolds that I have been to. The charming little ones that are basically a perfect place for a famous war heroine to hide out in.
> 
> Some notes for you:
> 
> \- the story is set in 1999  
> \- Fred isn't dead (he's probably not even going to be in this story apart from a random mention here and there, but  
> I felt that it was important to clarify)  
> \- I will be uploading either daily or every second day, as I have no patience
> 
> Please leave me your comments and feedback, I appreciate it all and will always respond!
> 
> Enjoy the story and buckle up for all the cuteness!

“Here’s the key, dear. Now, remember that you have to turn the lock twice to deadbolt the door. Make sure you do. It’s a safe town but you’re a young girl. Better to be safe.”

Hermione accepted the key to her new apartment, smiling at the landlady. She was going to perform several security spells as soon as she was alone but thought that assuaging the old lady’s concerns was a small price to pay for such a beautiful home.

“Thank you, Mrs Llewellyn, I'll be very careful.”

“I’ve left a lemon cake on the kitchen bench for you, dear, and there’s bread, a pint of milk and some eggs in the fridge. I didn’t know if you would have the energy to go shopping this evening, so I thought it would be best to keep some things for you.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to, ma’am, I wo—,”

“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure. I’ve got to go now, my husband’s waiting for me at the town hall for bingo.”

“Thank you for everything. I really appreciate it.” Hermione walked Mrs Llewellyn to the door and waved as she went down the stairs. Shutting the door and dead-bolting the lock, she turned and sighed with relief. Even though she hadn’t yet removed her furniture from her purse, the small apartment was hers. Her home. A one-bedroom home, with a living and kitchen area, and best of all, a window seat looking out over the road. 

Hermione got to work setting up the furniture she needed. Up until recently, the apartment had been a storage space for the bakery downstairs. When the baker’s wife, Mrs Llewellyn, had finally thrown out all of their unnecessary junk, she cleaned up the rooms nicely and advertised it on the local bulletin board a week prior. Hermione, who had been hopping around the little towns in the area, had snatched up the offer and eagerly contacted the Llewellyns to let them know she was a responsible adult who didn’t smoke. 

At the time, Hermione didn’t know why she was so keen on renting an apartment in a village in the Cotswolds, but now, she breathed a sigh of relief. Churchbury was a sleepy town, with beautiful flowers and its namesake church sitting in the middle of the town centre. Everyone knew everyone and no-one was magical, as far as she could tell. At the end of the day, she wasn’t in Wizarding London, thankfully. In the months following the war, she had been swamped by adoring fans and crazed reporters, trying to get the scoop on her life. It turned out that, while Ron and Harry were also fair game, no-one really cared about what her two best friends were wearing, or what restaurants they went to. It was “Hermione Granger this” and “Hermione Granger that” and it was maddening. She had had enough by the time winter had rolled by and spring offered her the chance to travel the world. She told Rita Skeeter, in an effort to satisfy her, that her travels would be to get to know different cultures more intimately. However, she had lied. As soon as Skeeter had published an extremely exaggerated article stating that Hermione would spend the next six months with her secret Veela fiancé in Paris, Hermione Apparated to the English countryside to clear her head. No-one would know her there, and when she saw the advertisement for the apartment while walking past the town hall, she knew this would be a good hideout. 

Hermione’s parents, now back in London and with fully restored memories, were happy that their daughter was going somewhere they deemed safe, especially after fighting in a bloody war. Her father had insisted that he teach his daughter some basic tips, like using a screwdriver and how to kill spiders. She didn’t have the heart to explain that her wand served as her tool for all such tasks, and let him spend an afternoon showing her how to hammer a nail and find the stud in a wall. Her mother was excited to visit and Hermione promised they could come and stay when she was settled. Harry and Ron had both expressed their confusion at her wanting to leave London for an extended time, but after she had assured them of her safety and gotten Ministry permission to have a Floo connection in her new home, they seemed okay with the idea. 

_“Promise us that you’ll visit for dinner often.” Harry said as he hugged her goodbye. He gave her a framed photograph of him, her and Ron smiling at the camera. It was the only Muggle photograph they had ever taken together. Ron handed her a large cake, most definitely from his mother, and kissed her on the cheek._

_“I’ll miss you, Hermione, but at least it’s only a year. Don’t forget to owl whenever you can.” Thankfully he hadn’t tried to kiss her on the mouth. She had gently told him that she wasn’t interested in being more than friends after the war, and he had begrudgingly accepted that it was for the best._

_Ginny had been the most excited about Hermione’s decision. She thought it would be a good way for Hermione to meet men. Tourists, she had reasoned, would pass through the area frequently. Male tourists, Ginny had said, winking._

_“Be safe! Come back home whenever you’d like. We’ll be here, waiting for you.” She pushed a little figurine into Hermione’s hands. It was a wooden carving of two little girls, standing hand in hand._

_“What is it for?” Hermione had asked._

_“If you shake it, the matching one on my bedside table will light up and I’ll come straight through the Floo, in case you need some girl time. Even to chat.”_

_“Oh, Gin. It’s great, thank you.”_

_She was engulfed in a hug by Harry, Ron and Ginny, before Disapparating away to just outside her new village._

By the evening, Hermione had moved in most of her furniture and warded the apartment. It was really unnecessary in such a safe town, but she was a creature of habit and after spending a year on the run, protection spells were muscle memory. The bed she had bought was big. She was tired of sleeping on the tiny cot in which she had spent most nights of the last year. It was time for a large bed, where she could starfish out and not hit a wall or fall off. She placed the photograph on her bedside table along with Ginny’s gift. Walking into the living area, she surveyed her work. A big, soft sofa sat opposite a television set. She had set up several bookcases against the walls and laid cushions out on the window seat. Every tea she owned was now neatly stacked up in the cupboard above the kettle and a frittata was cooking in the oven. Her mother had secretly called ahead to the local grocer’s, and Hermione was surprised to find a parcel full of groceries show up with the delivery boy on his way home that evening.

“All done, eh, Crookshanks?” She had let him out of his carrier after she finished enlarging all the furniture from her bag. He was now sitting with his face pushed up to the window. He turned for a second back to give Hermione an admonishing glare, before returning to his earlier gaze.

As she sat back onto the sofa and waited for her dinner to be ready, Hermione was suddenly overcome by the feeling of acute loneliness. She knew it would be this way, being alone in a new town, but it was still an odd feeling. She ate dinner in silence and fell asleep at 9 pm. 

— — — 

Hermione walked down the path to the local farmers market. It was Saturday and she had spent the previous day moping and getting drunk on a bottle of wine that she had found in her mother’s grocery package. This morning, she had woken up feeling sorry for herself and decided, after a brief Floo call with Ginny and a generous dose of Pepper-Up potion, to get out of the apartment and explore her new village. Armed with Muggle money and an assortment of cloth bags, she braved the market to meet her neighbours and buy some fruit. 

“Miss Granger!” Mr Llewellyn waved from the bread stand. She smiled and walked over. 

“Good morning, sir. How are you?”

“Well, thank you. Why don’t you go and take a loaf for yourself? They’re nice and warm, fresh from the oven just half an hour ago.”

She tried to pay but he insisted that she keep her money for other things. She tucked the seeded loaf into a bag and thanked him, making her way down the line of stalls. At the fruit seller’s, she picked up apples and oranges, as well as a bottle of cherry juice. At the cheesemonger’s table, she tried several local cheeses and bought a square of sharp cheddar for the pasta she planned to make that night. 

After her bags were heavy enough that she couldn’t walk much further, Hermione decided to turn back, until she caught sight of a stall at the very end of the market. A bookstall. Narrowing her gaze and marching over, she gasped. _Old_ books. Her favourite. 

“Good morning. Is there anything you’re looking for?” An old woman was sitting on a stool behind the table, a pair of thick spectacles perched on her nose. Her eyes were sparkling in the sunshine. She had several layers of clothing on, regardless of the fact that it was a warm, sunny day. She had soft grey hair and a book of poetry open on her lap. Hermione touched the spine of a novel and smiled at the lady. 

“Morning,” Hermione said. “Just browsing, thank you. You have a lovely collection here, ma’am.”

The old lady looked very pleased and sat up. 

“I own the secondhand bookstore over there,” she jabbed a thumb across the river at the row of shops opposite them. It was a tiny shop, wedged in between a tea shop and a florist. It reminded Hermione of 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Oh, it’s lovely.” She looked down at the books, gently letting her bags slide off her shoulders and onto the ground. Selecting a beautifully bound version of Pride and Prejudice, she opened it and sighed happily at the familiar words.

“Do you like Jane Austen, dearie?”

“Very much, Miss, uh—,”

“Owens. Mrs Dorothy Owens. What about you? What’s your name?”

“Granger.” It wasn’t Hermione who spoke, and she spun to her left to see the unexpected, regal and terribly handsome face of Draco Malfoy looking down at her.

“Oh my—,” 

“Her name,” Malfoy turned to Mrs Owens and smiled his charming, reserved-for-strangers-only smile, “is Hermione Granger.”


	2. Pistachio Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind words, everyone who commented! I hope you like this chapter! xxx

Hermione stared at Draco as he chatted to Mrs Owens, unable to process what he was saying. She was vaguely aware, in her state of shock, that in her new, sleepy little village of Churchbury, standing less than a foot away from her was her former childhood bully, Draco Malfoy. _Standing next to her. In Churchbury. Next to her._

She unconsciously slid her gaze down his body to see that he was wearing dark chinos and a crisp white polo shirt, looking like a Muggle version of the rich magical snob he was. Before her eyes could travel back to his face, she realised that he was watching her checking him out and she snapped back to glare at him. He was pushing something into her hands and she glanced down to see Pride and Prejudice.

“What—,” was all she could say before Mrs Owens beamed at her. 

“Your lovely gentleman just bought it for you, Hermione, dearie.”

Draco was smirking at her and she shook her head and poked the book into his torso, which was a futile move as it appeared that he was made of rock. She looked up at him with a scowl and he shook his head.

“No, no, that’s for you. A present,” he said loudly, sounding irritatingly valiant before he dropped his voice and his head to mutter into Hermione’s ear, “from your _lovely_ gentleman.”

Hermione snapped into action, thanking Mrs Owens for the book and yanking on Draco’s arm. It didn’t even occur to her that it was the first time she was touching him in nearly a year, and he barely had time to grab Hermione’s grocery bags from the ground before she pulled him along behind her. 

“Your bags, darling.” He said, in a droll voice. She grabbed them from him, irritated that Mrs Owens had seen the mock-chivalrous act before they were out of sight. Hermione dragged him to an alcove beside the post office and turned to face him. She couldn’t believe her bad luck. The _one_ town she found, and it had to be occupied with _him_.

“What in Godric’s name,” she hissed, “are _you_ doing here, Malfoy?”

He seemed unperturbed by her anger and her glare.

“I thought you were in Paris with your—, what was it? Your fiancé? Half-Veela? Obviously not Weasley, then. Surprised you’d marry a Veela, Granger. Bit temperamental, even for you, huh?”

“Oh, shut up. Everyone knows that Rita Skeeter is a lying, scheming cow.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, Granger.” Draco chuckled. Hermione wanted to slap the smirk off his face. She curled her fingers. 

“You’re already on my bad side, Malfoy. I repeat: what are you doing here?”

He frowned and pulled the bags off Hermione’s shoulder, letting them fall into the crook of his elbow. She would have protested but he was avoiding her question and she pushed her fists into her waist like the very mirror-image of Molly Weasley. He sighed, seeming to realise that she wasn’t going to play a game with him. 

“I’m visiting.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Hermione scoffed. “Visiting? Who exactly are you visiting, Malfoy? And give my bags back!”

“My mother, and no, they’re heavy. I’ll hold them while we’re talking.”

His face didn’t seem to be teasing so she considered him for a brief minute. 

“Why is your mother here?”

“Granger, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with world events, but last year, there was this war, you see—,”

“ _Malfoy_.”

“After my father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, my mother divorced him. She went back to her family name.”

Hermione nodded, looking sorry in spite of herself.

“Yes, I heard. It must have been—,”

“Don’t need your pity,” Draco cut her off, shaking his head. “Anyway, she didn’t want to be harassed by the media so she decided to come to Churchbury to wait out the next few months. Her family own property here, and her sister and grand-nephew came to stay with her.”

“Wait, do you mean Andromeda and baby Teddy?”

Hermione had no idea that they were here. Her eyes shone with excitement to see the little boy again and Draco must have felt uncomfortable because he was fidgeting with the buttons near his collar. 

“I think, after his,” Draco shut his eyes, momentarily, “mother and father died, Andromeda wanted to let him spend a few years away from the city.”

Hermione agreed with this decision. The poor little baby was orphaned at such a young age. Andromeda had lost her husband, her son-in-law and her only daughter. Both grandson and grandmother deserved a little bit of peace.

“Why do you call him your mother’s grandnephew, and not your nephew?”

“What?” The question seemed to have thrown him off and he looked at her with confusion creasing the space between his eyebrows.

“Teddy. He’s your nephew.”

“Yes, uh, well—,” Draco was stuttering and Hermione relished in seeing his discomfort, “he’s not really going to know me, is he?”

“Isn’t he?”

“After what I did.”

Hermione didn’t have to ask to know what Draco meant. She raised a hand, nearly touching his arm.

“Malfoy.”

He suddenly stood up straight and placed Hermione’s bags on the bench near his knee.

“I have to go. My mother is expecting me for breakfast.”

“Wait, I—,”

“Enjoy your book, Granger.”

He strode away and was halfway down the street in seconds. Hermione decided not to call after him. She looked down at the book in her hands and wondered how, in the space of five minutes, her plan for a quiet countryside life had blown up in her face. 

— — — 

“He said _what_?” Ginny munched on a buttered slice of the bread that Mr Llewellyn had baked that morning. After getting back to her new flat, Hermione had thrown herself at the figurine in her bedroom, shaking it with enough vigour that Ginny apparently got the idea and Floo’d herself through the fireplace within a minute.

_“What? What is it?” She had gasped, stumbling into the room. She ahold of Hermione’s arm and checking her over for signs of a hex or curse. Hermione shook her head and held up the book, and explained what had happened. Ginny sank to the sofa with her mouth open._

_“Tell. Me. EVERYTHING!”_

Hermione finished explaining and took a big gulp of her tea. Ginny brushed the crumbs from her mouth and smiled, wickedly. 

“What?”

“He’s quite sexy, isn’t he?”

“Ginny!” Hermione was horrified. “You’re with Harry! You can’t say things like that about—about—,”

“What, about your crush on him?”

“Shut your mouth, Ginny Weasley.”

Ginny held up her hands in mock innocence.

“What did I do?”

Hermione tried to stop the blush on her cheeks from spreading down her throat. She attempted a relatively non-hysterical voice.

“I don’t like Draco Malfoy, Gin.”

“Hermione, I’m not Harry or Ron. You spent way too long with them and now you think that your bad acting will get you past me. I can tell when you’re lying.” Ginny threw her a withering look. “I remember when Harry told us what he did to Malfoy in sixth-year. I heard you crying in the bathroom that night.”

“I was angry at Harry.”

“Yes, but why? Because Harry did something stupid and dangerous, something he does basically every day? Or because Draco nearly died?”

“Both!”

“Hermione!”

“Ginny!”

“Hermione.” Ginny’s voice was lower now, calmer. “Don’t you remember the battle? What you did for him?”

“I—,” 

“I saw you save his life.”

Hermione panicked.

“I would have done that for anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. Anyone.” Ginny winked at Hermione, swigged back the rest of her tea and brushed off her Quidditch gear, standing up. “I need to go. Practice in half an hour.”

Hermione stood with her and walked over to the fireplace. Ginny tapped the book on the sill and gave Hermione a wry smile.

“Ginny, he’s still Draco Malfoy. I’m not expecting him to be my friend.”

“Well, _he’s_ here. _You’re_ here. Rita Skeeter _isn’t_ here. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to find out exactly what he is to you.”

Ginny vanished into the green flames and Hermione turned to clean up the breakfast plates. Ginny was wrong. Just because she had cried when Harry hit him with a curse, and just because she healed him during the battle, didn’t mean that she liked him. That just meant she was a nice person. _He_ was still a pompous, prejudiced, elitist ass, and she was going to avoid him until he finished “visiting” and went back to London. 

Good riddance!

— — — 

Hermione went to the bookshop after lunch and knocked on the open door, peering in. It was dark inside, mostly because there were stacks and stacks of books on every surface. It was chaos. 

“Hello, Hermione! It’s nice to see you so soon!” Mrs Owens poked her head above a pile of books siting on a desk and Hermione gingerly made her way through the maze to the old lady.

“Hello, Mrs Owens.”

“Back for more books? Where’s your gentleman friend, dear?”

“Oh.” Hermione tried to make her answer as casual as possible. “He’s visiting his mother.”

“How nice. A lovely boy. Very handsome, too.”

Hermione ignored that and looked up and around at her surroundings. 

“What exactly is happening here? Are you renovating?”

Mrs Owens shook her head and laughed.

“No, dear. It’s always like this. I’ve been meaning to clear it up for years but I can never seem to finish. At some point,” she poked at a dusty book of sheet music, “it all just built up around me.”

Hermione suddenly had an idea, and it sparked a sense of excitement within her heart. 

“Would you let _me_ sort this place out?”

Mrs Owens looked very confused. 

“This shop? I don’t understand. You want to help me?”

“No, Mrs Owens.” Hermione grinned. This was fate looking down upon her favourably. This was the scales balancing for her having to put up with Malfoy in the same town. “I want to do the work _for_ you.”

“But, dearie, I can’t pay you. The only reason I’ve not been turned out of the shop is because my husband and I paid off the mortgage years ago.”

Hermione shook her head. 

“I don’t need to be paid. Just being around books is payment enough.”

Mrs Owens was now looking at Hermione like the girl had sprouted a second head. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to trouble you. You’re young. You should be out having fun.”

“Oh no, Mrs Owens. You’d be doing me a favour. I wanted to find something to do here, you see, and this would be a perfect hobby!” _Distraction_.

After several more minutes of persuading the old lady that she wasn’t crazy, and was serious about working in the shop, Mrs Owens finally relented and told her that she could start whenever she would like. Hermione decided that that very minute was a good time to start and got to work making herself familiar with the layout of the store. Surrounded by books and silence, she sighed a breath of relief.

She was finally home. 

— — — 

Hermione spent the next three days buried in the deep recesses of the store. She was revelling in her luck. She spent hours cataloguing books, making tea, and sometimes just reading. Mrs Owens kept to herself. She did crosswords at her desk and occasionally helped out a tourist that had wandered in. After breakfast, Hermione would stroll down to the store and work until lunch, when she would sit outside by the river, and eat a sandwich that she would quickly toast with her wand when no-one was looking. She hated cold sandwiches. While eating lunch, she would sit with her nose in a book and, every so often, look up to see the local children run into the sweet shop. 

Today was Tuesday, and Mrs Owens had told her that Tuesdays were the best day to get an ice cream from the parlour two shops down, because,

“...they have pistachio ice cream, dear. It’s quite wonderful.”

After purchasing two waffle cones of pistachio ice cream and handing one to Mrs Owens, Hermione stepped out to eat hers in her regular spot by the river. It was a very warm spring day and she wore cutoff shorts. It was easier, she reasoned, to wear shorts than jeans because she had found that trying to crouch in tight denim was a difficult task. 

Suddenly, the sun was gone. She blinked up at the tall, looming statue blocking out her sunlight.

“Pistachio?”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Just wanted to say hello.”

Hermione turned to stare at the river. The ice cream dripped onto her hand and she raised it to lick the melted drop off her skin. Draco Malfoy was not only standing above her, he was holding his own pistachio ice cream and grinning. 

“What are you doing, Granger?”

“Go away, Malfoy.”

“I think not.”

He sank to the grass beside her and licked his ice cream in a way that made Hermione want to punch him very hard. _How dare he sit next to her? How dare he — actually, he looked very handsome today. No, Hermione. No! Behave yourself!_

“Why can’t you go sit somewhere else?”

“ Because, in this quaint little town, there is no other place for me to sit where I can annoy you quite as much as I am right now.”

Hermione bit into her ice cream with such vigour that she gave herself a brain freeze and tried to stifle a groan. She risked giving him a side-eye glance and found him staring back at her, looking like a bloody advertisement for ice cream, good looks and an infuriating smouldering gaze. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Hermione sighed, looking at her beaten-up Converse and wishing she knew how to speak to him without her brain going blank. He was so _irritating_. Suddenly, there was a rustling of clothes and Draco stood. _Oh, thank Merlin, he’s going._ Hermione tried not to watch him go, but she couldn’t help follow his figure as he walked away, across the little footbridge a few paces away, and _went to sit across from Hermione on the other side of the little river_. He was less than three metres away from her. She glared at him. 

When she had had enough of a staring contest with Draco Malfoy, and her ice cream was thoroughly melted down her arms, she stood, gave him one last disapproving look - to which he returned a cheeky grin - and stormed back into the bookshop.

Mrs Owens peered up at her from the paper’s cryptic crossword, a twinkle in her eye. 

“You know, dear,” she mused, putting her pen down to look at Draco, throwing bits of his cone at the ducks in the water, “if a boy looked at me the way that young Mr Black looks at you, I wouldn’t be spending my free time in a bookshop, if you get my meaning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I have had a couple of questions regarding Teddy - I know he’s technically Draco’s cousin, but in this fic, I wrote them to have a nephew/uncle relationship because that’s how it goes in my family (i.e. I refer to my parents’ cousins as my aunts and uncles out of respect for their age and seniority to me). I didn’t even know about this “cousin not nephew” thing until a guy I knew at university arrogantly tried to explain to me that my nephew was actually my cousin and that he shouldn’t be calling me his auntie (as if I’d let that kid call me by my first name, ha!).
> 
> As I explain this, I realise I may have subconsciously written Teddy as Draco’s nephew to spite that guy. So yes, I know it’s incorrect to have Hermione refer to Teddy as Draco’s nephew but I’m pretending that they both operate the same way my family does. I’m sorry if that irks you, just pretend I’ve written “cousin” instead of “nephew”. 😂❤️


	3. Fiancé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would especially like to thank valancyjane74 for the sweetest comments on the last two chapters, as well as everyone else who has commented. You guys are amazing. I love your kindness and your enthusiasm.
> 
> Enjoy some cute stuff, this is for you!

It was the following week. Hermione had stopped by the Llewellyns’ bakery to pick up some croissants for herself and Mrs Owens for breakfast. They were sitting on two upturned crates just outside the door of the bookstore, eating the pastries with warm, milky coffee and enjoying the sunshine. Hermione was explaining her plan of action for sorting out the books and Mrs Owens was happily eating and nodding along. 

“I want to start a ledger for you to—,” Hermione caught sight of a pale blonde head walking towards the store, and after realising that it wasn’t Draco, she paled. Diving into the bookstore, she hid behind the desk. She heard Narcissa talking to Mrs Owens briefly, before there was silence. After a few minutes of waiting with bated breath, Hermione crawled to the edge of the window and peered up to see Draco’s mother already on the other side of the store, walking away. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stood, brushing the dust off her knees. As she came back out to sit on her crate, Mrs Owens looked at her with the same expression that Luna Lovegood wore often. It was unnerving.

“Dear?”

Hermione picked up another croissant and bit into it.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you just duck and roll to avoid Mrs Black?”

“Oh, you know her?” Hermione’s heart sank. She was going to lie about trying to get away from a hornet. 

“Yes, dear. She comes into the store sometimes.”

“Ah.” Hermione frowned as the end of her croissant sank into her coffee mug. 

“So, are you going to tell me, or should I call her back here and ask her myself?”

“You know, for a lady who claims to be too old to do much, you’re very good at blackmail.” Hermione sighed, placing her mug on the pebbled path. She wondered how to spin this excuse without mentioning blood purity or magic. “She is a very rich lady, and I come from a poorer family. Relatively, that is. Draco’s parents, they disapproved of me.”

“Of him courting you?”

“No! Not courting, just being friends. Actually, not even friends. I wasn’t a suitable classmate for him, in their opinion.”

“Is that why he makes such an effort with you?”

“What?”

“Hermione, dear, every lunchtime since last Tuesday, Mr Black has come to sit across the river from you to try and win your attention.”

Hermione blushed. It was true, Draco was taking harassment to a new level, but that wasn’t because he was making an effort to win anything. 

“He’s just trying to irritate me, Mrs Owens.”

“I don’t think so, Hermione, dear. He reminds me of someone I once knew.”

This caught Hermione by surprise and she was distracted. Mrs Owens rarely spoke about her own life, and Hermione was eager to know more about the old lady. Especially about how she came to own this bookshop.

“Can I ask who it is that he reminds you of?”

Mrs Owens glanced out at the river and her eyes seemed to glaze over. 

“My husband, dear. My Frederick.”

Hermione decided not to push. 

— — —

An hour later, she was flipping through a large print copy of Titus Andronicus, when the bell at the door tinkled softly.

“Hello?” Mrs Owens called, from her desk. Hermione turned back to the book, when a very familiar voice started to speak. She rose, immediately, and winced at the cramp in her calf from crouching for so long. 

“What do you want?”

Mrs Owens gave her a disapproving look and Hermione tried to soften her glare to a mid-level pout. Draco had pushed a pair of sunglasses back into his pale hair and he was giving her a sweet smile that did not fit with his personality. 

“I wanted to see if you would like to have tea with me next door.”

“Of course she would!” Exclaimed Mrs Owens.

“No, no, Mrs Owens, I have so much work to—,”

“I insist, Hermione, dear. You’re not even getting paid, you should be taking many breaks!”

“She’s not getting paid?” Draco’s voice piped up.

“I really couldn’t—,” 

“You’re going, dear. You work too hard as it is. You deserve a break.”

Mrs Owens herded Hermione towards Draco, who stepped out onto the pavement and held the door open for her. That irritating chivalry, again.

“I’ll be back soon.” Hermione announced, to herself more than anyone else. She could have sworn she heard Mrs Owens chuckle as the door swung shut. 

Marching to the next shop, Hermione entered without any word of acknowledgement to Draco. She could feel him walking just behind her. 

“Tea for two, miss? Why, hello, Mr Black, nice to see you back so soon!” A cheery young lady held out a menu card to Hermione, who nodded and thanked her. After being seated by the window, Draco asked the waitress for water while they decided what to order. 

“They do good scones.” He ran a long index finger around the edge of his plate. 

“I know, I’ve eaten them.”

“And they make a really—,”

“Why are you doing this, Malfoy?” Hermione put down the menu and gave him a serious look. This wasn’t the day to fool around or pull her leg. She tried to make that apparent with her expression. He wove his fingers together. 

“Doing what?” _Oh, so innocent._

“Trying to be—,”

“Friendly?”

“Yes! Friendly! Why are you trying to be friendly to me? Why do you keep sitting across from me when I’m eating lunch? Why did you throw a grape at me in the supermarket last Friday? Why?”

“Because we’re in Churchbury.” He was very matter-of-fact about it and Hermione didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t making any sense and he picked up on her confusion. 

“We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. The war is over. My father is locked away, Voldemort is dead, and my psychotic aunt is dead. I get to be Draco Black here.”

“What would you like to order?” The waitress was back, beaming at Draco and barely acknowledging Hermione. Draco looked at Hermione, lifting his chin slightly to indicate that she should order first. The waitress begrudgingly turned to her, her smile dimming significantly.

“I’d like the regular cream tea, please.” Hermione pointed at the top line of the menu. “With strawberry jam. Clotted cream, too.”

“Is whole milk alright for your tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And what about you, Mr Black?” Back to the full-beam smile. Draco reflected it and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Same, thanks.”

“Lovely, I’ll get that out for you right away.”

Hermione resumed the conversation when the waitress had gone. 

“Yes, about that — why did you tell everyone your last name is Black?”

Draco’s smile faded to seriousness. 

“I don’t know. I guess—,” he faltered, “I didn’t want to carry the weight of it. Not here.”

“Because no-one knows you?”

There was a beat, and then, 

“Because I’m _free_ , here. I’m free to be happy. I can read books and eat ice cream in the park. I can annoy pretty girls without them running away screaming. I can hide my tattoo with Glamours,” he raised the arm that used to bear his Dark Mark, “and not be Draco Malfoy. No-one here is going to point at me and wonder, _‘oh, look, why is Draco Malfoy smiling? Why is Draco Malfoy helping that child who fell over? What is Draco Malfoy doing, talking to Muggles?_ Do you understand?”

Hermione’s mind was still tripping over ‘ _pretty girls_ ’ when she realised that he was waiting for her response. 

“So,” she mused, “you’re here to hide.”

He looked affronted. “Excuse me, what are _you_ doing here, again?”

“Fair point.”

“All I want, Granger, is some shred of a life that’s worth living. I want to be able to enjoy my time here. I don’t want to be remembered for my mistakes.”

Their plates came, loaded with scones and cream. Hermione watched Draco slather his scone with jam and then top it with clotted cream and found it a mesmerising experience. He glanced at her.

“Are you going to eat or just stare at me, because I’ll have you know I charge money for that sort of voyeuristic behaviour.”

She kicked his shin. 

“Fine.” She sat back. “I’ll let you be here in peace. As long,” she took the opportunity to give him a warning look, “as you stop acting like a lunatic when you see me. Mrs Owens thinks you’re trying to make me fall in love with you.”

Draco choked on scone he was eating and had to gulp down a whole cup of tea to stop coughing. Hermione waited for him to stop causing a scene.

“As _if_ , Granger. You and me together, what a disaster that would be.” He finally managed to speak, still red in the face from nearly dying. Or embarrassment. Either way, Hermione tried to ignore at the tiny sting of pain shooting through her wrists from the revelation that Draco thought dating her would be a disaster. 

She finished her own scones and tea without saying much else, apart from asking after the health of his mother, aunt and nephew, before standing. 

“I should get back. I have a lot of work to do. See you.” She reached into her back pocket to draw out a twenty pound note but Draco’s hand was suddenly on hers, and he was shaking his head. 

“You don’t get to pay, Granger. I owe you for so much more than afternoon tea, don’t try to settle this too.”

She didn’t have time to wonder what he meant, because, of their own accord, her feet were carrying her away from him. She sped to the bookshop and shut herself away at the back of it, wondering why she felt so flustered. It wasn’t Draco that was making her cheeks burn. She was getting sick. That’s obviously what it was. 

— — — 

On her way back home that evening, there was a cloud burst and Hermione was soaked to the bone by the time she reached her flat. After a hot shower, Hermione was ready to sit on her sofa, watch Mystic Pizza and eat dinner when there was a knock at the door. She stood, grabbing for her wand out of habit. She let it drop to the sofa and walked to the door.

Outside stood a very wet, very glum looking Draco Malfoy. His face was more guarded, more serious than she had seen since first meeting him here. 

“What?”

His serious expression changed for just a brief minute and he smirked. 

“Is that how you treat all of your unexpected visitors?”

“How did you get my address?”

“Mrs Owens.”

“I swear to Godric—,”

Draco raised his hand to show that there was a bottle of wine in it.

“I come in peace. Bearing gifts for the lady of the house.”

She eyed the bottle and upon realising that it was a sweet wine, the only sort she drank, she stepped aside, allowing him entry into her home. 

“Why didn’t you cast a spell to keep yourself dry?” Hermione wrinkled her nose as he shrugged out of his wet jacket, little droplets of rainwater hitting her on the face. 

“Can’t use my wand for eighteen months. Still have to wait until December.”

“Oh. Your punishment.”

She had forgotten that all the minor offenders on trial for their part in the war were stripped of their wands for extended periods of time. Pansy Parkinson, she had heard, had a three-year ban. It almost made her smile. She walked to the sofa to grab her own wand, pointing it at Draco and muttering a spell to dry him off.

“Thanks.” He shook the water off the wine bottle and handed it to Hermione. “I asked the lady at the store and she said you buy this one.”

Hermione sighed. “Do _none_ of the people in town see any issue with giving out a person's private information?”

Draco only laughed, before following her into the kitchen. 

“I want to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“No, I mean, seriously.”

“Fine.” Hermione drew two wine glasses from a cupboard and charmed the bottle to pour into each one, before sliding a glass to Draco and beckoning him to sit at the kitchen table. He obliged. 

“Thank you for what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“Seriously, Granger? At the battle, and at my trial? You saved my neck more than once and I wouldn’t be a free man, sort of, if it weren’t for you.”

“Harry spoke at your trial too.”

“Granger.”

“I’m just saying,” she sipped the wine and felt the sugar rush straight to her veins, “that I wasn’t the only one.”

Draco took a drink of wine and made a face.

“What is this? It’s disgusting.”

“It’s a sweet wine.”

“Wine isn’t supposed to be sweet.”

“Why are you here?”

Draco looked pained, and set his glass down.

“To say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He let out a short, shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Where do you want me to start? Calling you horrific slurs all throughout high school? Bullying you? Hexing you in fourth-year?”

“That was all childish play,” Hermione was growing uncomfortable. She knew where he was leading, “and it doesn’t matter now.”

“How about when you were in my house, being tortured? I watched you fall to the floor from pain and I heard you scream.” He was nervously clenching and unclenching his hands. Hermione almost grabbed them to stop him. “I hear you scream when I have nightmares. I hear you scream and then I wish I had died that night at Hogwarts because no punishment could be good enough.”

“Bellatrix did that, not you.” Hermione said, her voice plain and truthful. She knew it in her heart, that no one but Bellatrix was to blame for her torture.

“But I stood there and watched you.”

“What would you have done? Gone against your crazy aunt? No offence.” she glanced up at him and he shook his head. “She would have turned the curses on you if you intervened, Draco.” 

They both sat up straight with her use of his given name and he opened his mouth, saying nothing, and then gulping back a large part of the wine he disliked. Hermione continued. 

“I’m not saying that you were faultless, but you grew up within your circumstances.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I did what I did.”

Hermione felt her heart jump.

“You’re forgiven. I don’t want to hear any more about this tonight.”

He looked up from his glass, staring at her like he was trying to reach inside her mind. She stood, clearing her throat.

“Hungry?”

— — — 

Half an hour later, they were sitting on the couch, eating bowls of spiced pumpkin soup with buttered crusty bread. Hermione was trying to explain the plot of Mystic Pizza to Draco and he was not understanding a single word. 

“So, she’s a prostitute.”

“No! She’s just a bit freer with her body than her sister. It’s a skirt Draco, it’s perfectly respectable.”

“And her sister, the ugly one—,”

“Don’t say that!”

“—she’s in love with the married man and that’s her daughter.”

“Yes to the first bit, no to the second.”

“And the other one wants to get married?”

“No, she’s trying _not_ to get married. Her fiancé wants to marry her as soon as possible but she wants her freedom.”

“Muggle entertainment is very bizarre.”

Hermione took Draco’s plate and used her wand to clean them in the sink. She turned back to Draco and studied his profile. He was, very intently, watching Julia Roberts play pool on the television. He was yet to ask her what pool was, but Hermione assumed that had something to do with Julia Roberts bending over a table. There was another knock at the door and Hermione went to open it, quickly waving her wand to stop the dishes from washing themselves in the sink.

“Hermione, love?” Mrs Lewellyn stood in the doorway, a raincoat wrapped tightly around her body and a wet umbrella dripping by her feet. “I came to check that you’re alright. It’s a bit cold and I was worried that the roof might leak.”

“Oh, no, Mrs Lewellyn, I’m fine. It’s actually very warm in here. I’ve lit the fireplace.”

“Oh, good, dear, good.”

It was at this moment that Draco decided to wander into Mrs Lewellyn’s line of sight and she narrowed her eyes. Hermione followed her gaze and groaned. 

“Who’s this, dear?” 

The look on Mrs Llewellyn’s face was something akin to disapproval and Hermione had no answer, when,

“I’m her fiancé, ma’am.” Draco slipped his arm around Hermione’s waist. Mrs Llewellyn gasped at the same time as Hermione and dropped her umbrella. 

“Oh, goodness, that’s wonderful! What’s your name, young man?”

“Draco. Draco Black.”

“Oh, are you Narcissa’s boy? She comes in for pastries every Saturday!”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Mrs Lewellyn turned to Hermione, who was currently glaring at the floor and trying not to blush at the feeling of Draco’s arm snaking around her middle.

“Dear, you never told me you were engaged!”

“That’s because,” Hermione shot Draco a murderous look, which he ignored, “we were _supposed_ to be keeping it a _secret_.” She looked back at Mrs Llewellyn, who was beaming at the two of them.

“Well, what a lovely surprise. My goodness, you make a fine couple. Imagine your children. They’ll be beautiful.”

Draco coughed and Hermione could almost swear that his arm gripped her a fraction tighter.

“Yes, well, that’s all very, um—,”

“Why is it a secret, Draco, dear?”

“Well,” Hermione interrupted, “Draco’s father doesn’t approve of us being together. Because,” she remembered her lie to Mrs Owens, “I’m not wealthy. I’m not good enough in his eyes. We didn’t want him to find out.”

“Oh, but Narcissa tells me that he’s in London, isn’t that right, Draco?” 

“Yes, but—,”

“Don’t you worry, nothing gets back to London from Churchbury.”

“But—,”

“And you must get married here! We could do your wedding cake.”

“Um, you see—,”

“Anyway, I’d best be heading off. It looks like the two of you are nice and cosy here.” And with a final wink, Mrs Llewellyn was bustling away. Hermione closed the door and Draco removed his arm from her. 

“What. The. Actual. HELL?!” She stormed towards him as he backed away, hitting the arm of the sofa. 

“In my defence—,”

“Fiancé? Are you serious? You couldn’t say you were just a friend?”

“Okay, that’s the issue—,”

“What issue?!”

“I’m a Legilimens. I read her mind.”

The confession stopped Hermione in her tracks and she frowned. 

“Wait, what?”

“I read her mind. She thought I was your boyfriend and she didn’t like the idea that I was here so late at night. She thought it was untoward.”

“So you went straight to engagement?”

“I knew it would make her feel better. At least that way we wouldn’t be doing anything improper. Even if we were living in sin,” he paused to chuckle, “we’d be getting married so it wouldn’t matter too much.”

Hermione sank to the sofa, her head in her hands. In less than twenty-four hours, everyone in the village would know that Hermione Granger and Draco Black were engaged. Mrs Owens would know. _Oh, Merlin._ Then, another thought struck Hermione.

“You read her mind.”

“Yes?”

“Does that mean you’ve read _my_ mind?”

She raised her head from her hands, anger seeping into her blood. She looked at Draco, who had gone very still.

“That’s what I meant by there being an issue.”

“I am going to murder you.” Hermione stomped over to where Draco was standing, surprisingly looking quite timid. 

“I didn’t mean to, honestly. It was only after fifth-year that I could—,”

“What, invade my privacy?” 

“But that doesn’t mean I did it all the time!”

“Why? Because of my blood status? Didn’t want to see what a Muggle-born was thinking?”

“No! That’s not it,” he hesitated, “I just didn’t want to know what you thought of me.”

“What?”

“I figured that you hated me.”

“ And is that what you found when you read my mind?”

“No.”

Hermione’s breath caught and she realised the path down which she had unintentionally led them. He was very red and she knew she was a matching shade of scarlet. 

“I know how you felt about me.”

“Stop.”

“And I know you didn’t hate me.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“I kept trying to push you away.”

Well, that wasn’t what she was expecting. “What?”

Draco looked uncertain, like he was afraid that Hermione was going to scream at him or hex him.

“I thought that if I pushed you away; if I was cruel to you, you would start hating me. So, I kept being horrible. I didn’t want you to like me,” at this, Hermione cringed, “or feel bad for me, or even try to do that bloody stupid Gryffindor hero thing and save me from my fate.”

“So you—,”

“So I was unkind to you. More unkind than in previous years. I didn’t want you to get caught up in my mess.”

“Why not?”

Draco was walking to the door and pulling on his coat. He gave her a wry smile and, without warning, shot his hand out to touch her chin. 

“You’re the Brightest Witch of Your Age. Figure it out.”

He bid her goodnight before stepping outside. She shut the door and rested her head against it. 

“Well,” she said to herself, “I’m screwed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	4. Achilles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments on Chapter 3! 
> 
> Here is the next chapter for you. Enjoy!! 
> 
> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Hermione found herself dreading the walk to the bookshop two days later. She had taken the previous day off to panic. Now, it was morning and she had to face Mrs Owens, who had, without a doubt, heard all about Draco and Hermione’s apparent secret love affair. Pushing open the door, she groaned. 

“What are you doing here?”

Draco was leaning over Mrs Owens’ desk, pointing to the crossword she was working on. He glanced up, that stupid cheeky grin back on his face. Mrs Owens gave Hermione an indecipherable look.

“He was keeping me company, pet. Draco, dearie, why don’t you go sort out the stack of James Herriot books back there? Hermione couldn’t reach them and you seem like you’re tall enough.” 

Draco saluted Mrs Owens and walked to the back of the store without another word. Hermione came to sit next to the old lady, sinking down onto a box of magazines from 1965. 

“Why exactly is he trying to help?”

Mrs Owens took off her spectacles and levelled a “ _you’re not fooling me”_ look at Hermione.

“Engaged, hmm?”

“Listen, about that—,”

“You don’t need to explain, dear. Darlene Llewellyn told me you were trying to keeping it private.”

“Well, that’s not it, Mrs Owens, you see, I—,”

“Actually,” Draco’s voice floated over to them from where he was, which was currently climbing up the shelves on the back wall, like an idiot, “she had broken it off with me and I was trying to win her back.”

So, it turned out that Draco had already thought up a back story.

“Oh, I see.”

“She was so upset about my father standing in our way, and so she told me she couldn't be with me and left London. I found out that she had come to the same village that my mother was living in and knew it was fate that we should be together—,”

“ _Shut_ up!” Hermione hissed.

“—and so I followed her here to beg her to take me back.”

Mrs Owens looked very pleased. “That’s lovely, Draco. How gallant of you.”

“I made a lot of mistakes, Mrs Owens,” Draco was now carefully pulling the box off the top shelf while trying not to kill himself by falling, “and I knew I needed to make it up to her.”

“Mistakes?” Hermione was curious. 

“Yes, Granger, you remember what I did, don’t you?”

“Ohhhh,” Hermione nodded at Mrs Owens, playing along, “yes, I remember.”

“Terrible mistakes, Mrs Owens, really appalling ones. You wouldn’t believe half the things I had done.”

“Yes, he was awful.” Hermione chimed in. “Really, sometimes I still wonder why I agreed to this.”

“And I knew that I had to make myself worthy enough that she would forgive me.”

And suddenly, Hermione knew that it wasn’t a game anymore. She stopped smiling.

“Okay, that’s enough.” She called out to him, her voice full of warning. “Just concentrate on what you’re doing before you crack your head open.”

Mrs Owens was looking between the two of them, deep in thought. Hermione hoped that she couldn’t read minds, too. 

“Do you remember,” she mused, “the first day that I met you both? When you saw each other here for the first time at the market, I could have sworn that there was a look between you—”

Hermione looked at her shoes and Mrs Owens continued,

“—and after you went away to yell at him, dear, I said to myself: I’ve only seen that look shared between two people before.”

“Which two people?” Hermione couldn’t help herself. Mrs Owens smiled and Hermione knew she had fallen straight into her trap.

“My husband and myself, in our wedding photo.”

Draco walked over to rest his arm on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s just us. Totally in love. Isn’t that right, darling?” He made a face at her and she elbowed him in the ribs. Mrs Owens shook her head, chuckling. 

“ _Just_ like my Frederick.”

— — — 

Hermione and Draco sat quietly on the floor of the shop, writing in the ledgers that Hermione had fashioned from some blank notebooks she had found in a box. They were both efficient, and, having been the top students in their year at Hogwarts, were very good at this task. Hermione was working through all the Austen novels and Draco was currently on his fifth box of Shakespeare’s works. After noting down the fifteenth copy of Mansfield Park, Hermione stopped to look at Draco. It was an odd sensation, sitting here with her childhood bully, working together. No hexes flying through the air, just the odd quotation read aloud. She shifted her gaze so he wouldn’t feel her eyes on him, and started on another book.

“See here, Granger. It’s your play!”

Hermione looked up from Sense and Sensibility, or rather the twenty-third copy of Sense and Sensibility, and glanced at the open book in Draco’s lap. The page was open to A Winter’s Tale.

“Oh, yes.” She tilted her chin, feigning seriousness. “I was quite good in that play. The epitome of regality.”

Draco looked at her in surprise, and she was surprised too, unsure where her good-natured comment came from. 

“Or maybe,” Draco muttered, flipping the pages, “you’re the lovely Princess of Sparta.”

Hermione laughed. 

“Lovely? More like abandoned.”

Draco nodded, looking impressed. “You know your Greek literature, I see.”

“I love the Iliad,” Hermione set down Sense and Sensibility #23 and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs. “I love the romance, and the violence, and the tragedy.”

“Who’s your favourite?”

“My what?”

“Your favourite character?”

“Who’s yours?”

Draco sat up straight, puffing his chest out. “Achilles.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

“What?”

“You’re _such_ an Achilles.”

“You mean, devastatingly handsome and supremely honourable?”

“No, I mean that you’re a sulky ass who likes to start fights with everyone.”

“I’m offended.” He kicked her shoe lightly with his own. “Okay, then, tell me _your_ favourite.”

“Clytemnestra, I think.”

He nodded in agreement. “I see that.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you see?”

Draco shrugged his shoulders, smiling softly. 

“You’re both strong.”

Hermione cleared her throat and checked to see if Mrs Owens was nearby. She wasn’t. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Draco started pulling more books out of the box on his right. He stacked them in a pile on his knee and Hermione watched it wobble.

“Do you still read my mind?”

The pile toppled to the floor. Draco kept his gaze focused on the book in his hand as he said, softly enough that Hermione could barely hear him, 

“No.”

“Oh?” Hermione tried to sound casual, but she couldn’t help the relief that was rushing through her. “I would’ve thought you would take every opportunity to see what’s going on up here.” She tapped her temple.

Draco was looking very uncomfortable. He looked towards her but settled his eyes on her shoulder. 

“I don’t read your mind anymore,” he hesitated, “because I _can’t_ read your mind anymore. I don’t know why, but I just can’t do it.”

“You read Mrs Llewellyn’s mind.”

“Yes, I’m saying that it’s _your_ mind that I can’t read. I don’t know why, Granger.”

“When was the last time you could?”

“Before you—,” he trailed off, plucking at a fibre on the carpet, unconsciously.

“What?”

“Before you,” Draco finally looked at Hermione, “were tortured.”

Hermione gaped. “Oh.”

“When Potter was getting questioned, I checked to see what was in your mind. You were so frightened. You thought you were going to die and you were trying to remember what was the last thing you said to Potter and Weasley before you were captured. You were trying to remember if it was something worthwhile, like telling them you loved them.”

“And then?” Hermione pushed.

“And then,” his gaze dropped to Hermione’s hands, “you were lying on the floor, getting tortured. I kept trying to get into your mind to see what was happening, to make sure you were still sane, and I saw nothing. It was like a wall had been put up.”

“So I’m broken, then? Is it some sort of mental barrier? Like protection?”

“Granger, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not very good at reading minds anymore.”

Hermione huffed. “I don’t like that you read my mind at all, you know. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

Draco nodded. “I agree, but I’m not that sorry I did it. You were the Gryffindor princess, and I was one of the lesser people. I didn’t really have a chance to know you apart from when I was insulting you.”

“Whose fault was that, idiot?”

— — — 

That evening, Hermione asked Harry to come through the Floo for dinner. When he climbed through the fireplace, Hermione was already bringing a pan of lasagna to the dinner table. 

“Finally learned how to cook?” He dropped a brotherly kiss to the top of her head.

“Harry, we need to talk.”

“Oh, okay.” He removed his coat and brushed the soot out of his hair, before sitting and pouring juice into their glasses. “Serious talk, I see.”

“Ginny’s at practice?”

“No, sleeping. She’s working herself too hard.”

“You can take some dinner back to her.”

Harry smiled as Hermione lifted a slice of lasagna onto his plate. 

“Thanks. It looks great.”

“Harry,” Hermione sat, digging the tines of her fork into the table, “do you know who’s here?”

After half an hour of explaining the situation, and trying to persuade Harry that Draco Malfoy wasn’t intending to _Avada_ her into the next life, Hermione sat back. She waited for Harry to stop frowning at his dinner plate. 

“Say something, please?”

“Do you like him?”

“No!” _Yes_. 

“And you were _actively_ trying to avoid him?”

“Yes, of course!” _No_.

“And he’s being nice to you, you say?”

“Yes. Yes, he is. He’s apologised. He’s been making amends.”

There was a pause.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Harry wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. 

“Okay. If you’re safe, and you’re happy, I don’t see any reason for concern.”

Hermione was stunned. She wasn't expecting him to be so calm about the situation.

“You’re not going to go stun Malfoy?”

“No. Ron might though, so maybe don’t tell him for a while.”

Hermione chuckled at this. Ron was, as far as she was concerned, never going to find out about any of this. 

“I can’t believe you’re not upset.”

He lifted the corner of his mouth into a half-smile. “You’re the smartest person I know, Hermione. If you say that Draco Malfoy is redeemable, then who am I to question you? Besides,” he added, “I trust you. I trust that you’re being careful, and I can see that this place is good for you. Maybe he’s good for you too.”

Hermione thought for a minute.

“You’re being very mature, Harry.”

He laughed.

“Well, I’ve spent too long around you.”

— — — 

“We have a problem.” 

Hermione looked up from her book to see Draco standing in front of her, looking at her with worry in his eyes. She was sitting under a tree in the local park. It was a Saturday and she wasn’t going into the bookshop today.

“Yes, we do. I’m trying to read, go away.”

He sat down beside her, resting his back against the tree.

“My mother found out.”

“That you annoy people when they’re trying to read?”

“Granger, cut it out.” He tugged the book from her lap and snapped it shut, holding it tightly enough that she couldn’t wrestle it from under his arm. “Somehow, the village gossips got word back to Mother and she flat out asked me, today at breakfast, when I was planning to tell her that I was marrying Hermione Granger.”

_Yes, this was a problem._

“You told her the truth, right?”

“Yes, of course! I told her right away.”

“And?”

“She still wants you to come for dinner tonight. You’ve been invited. Formally. I was sent to find you.”

“Tonight?”

“Why, do you have plans to play shuffleboard with the other old bats in the town hall?”

“You are a real pain in the arse, you know? Is this how you’re trying to entice me to come to dinner at your home?”

Draco sighed.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He conceded. “Sorry. I’m just panicking. Why does she want to see you?”

Hermione tugged a blade of grass from the ground and twirled it between her fingers. 

“I have less information than you do, you know. I suppose I have to go. Right?”

“If you tell her you’re sick, she’ll just reschedule.”

“So I’m stuck going.”

He gave her a look that could be misconstrued as charming. 

“Don’t fret, Granger, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, lovely. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go jump off the church steeple now.”

“How offensive.”

“You know, this charade is getting us into a lot of trouble. Why can’t we just tell people we broke it off?”

“You try telling Mrs Owens that her favourite young couple is no longer engaged. The shock alone will kill her.”

_He had a point._

Draco placed the book on Hermione’s thigh and tugged gently at one of her curls. Hermione tried not to redden as he stood and brushed off his trousers. 

“I’ll come by at 6:30 pm to get you.” He made to walk away, before glancing back. “And, uh, wear something green.”

“Bite me, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter, we're getting to some good stuff next!


	5. An Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mention of a child’s murder. (During war)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys keep writing the kindest and most encouraging comments, I'm SO happy that you're enjoying the story so far. Here is Chapter 5 for you. It's the dinner, and as promised, you're getting Narcissa in a new environment and plenty of Hermione/Draco banter. 
> 
> I've kept this story relatively light and fluffy so far but I wanted to delve deeper into a more meaningful plot, so the next part of the story will be going down some more serious themes (nothing awful, I promise!). I hope you enjoy it as much as you've enjoyed these first chapters, and I can't wait to hear from you when we get further along into the tale.
> 
> Enjoy!! xx

When Hermione laid her eyes on Lady Narcissa Black for the first time since her trial last year, she didn’t know what she expected to find. She didn't think this would be what she found.

“Hermione, come in!”

Narcissa was standing at the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon, her grand-nephew sitting happily on her hip. Draco took Hermione’s shawl from her shoulders and disappeared down a corridor. 

“Good evening, Mrs, um, Lady Mal—,” Hermione stopped herself from saying it, “Lady Black.”

“Oh, so formal!” Narcissa turned to face her, Teddy’s eyes lighting up when he saw Hermione. “Call me Narcissa, please. Or Cissa, whatever you prefer. You look absolutely lovely. This dress is beautiful.”

“Thank you, I didn’t know if it was formal enough.” Hermione had transfigured a simple short-sleeved summer dress from light blue to dark green, which Draco had found extremely funny when he came to pick her up. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, we’re very casual around here. I’m just so happy you could make it, it’s wonderful to have you at our house for dinner!”

Teddy waved at Hermione and garbled a few jumbled words. He reached out to her and Narcissa came closer, allowing Hermione to take the little boy into her arms. As she did, Teddy’s hair went from silky straight and white-blonde to curly and dark brown within seconds. 

“You have a beautiful house.” Hermione said, glancing up at the high ceilings. It was a remodelled mansion sitting on the very edge of the village. While clearly smaller than Malfoy Mansion, it was four times the size of Hermione’s parents’ house. She bounced Teddy in her arms, watching him grab two fistfuls of hair and shove them into his mouth.

“Thank you, we like it too. It’s so light and airy. Unlike _certain other places_.”

Hermione didn’t have to ask to know which place was being referenced. A hand on the small of her back made her jump and she turned to see Draco surveying her with amused interest. 

“I see he’s already very taken with you,” he pointed to Teddy’s copycat hair. Narcissa wiped her hands on a tea towel and removed the apron from her person, throwing it on the back of a chair. Hermione was stunned to see Draco’s mother wearing Muggle clothing; jeans and a cashmere sweater. _Jeans. A sweater_. Narcissa must have seen the surprise on her face because she laughed. 

“I know, I look quite different to how I did in the past,” she beckoned Hermione to follow her, “but I feel quite different, you see? It’s nice to be Cissa Black. Let’s go have a drink, shall we?”

Hermione gave Draco a look. “I guess you and I aren’t the only ones who needed a change, huh?” She muttered to him. He smirked in return as they walked behind his mother. They entered the sitting room, a beautiful open room with white couches and a grand piano sitting by the floor to ceiling windows. Draco ushered Hermione to a seat, and Teddy wriggled around in her lap as she sat down. Narcissa poured wine from a decanter, offering two glasses to Draco.

“I’ll hold yours so he doesn’t try to tip it over,” he explained, sitting beside Hermione. Narcissa was watching them with a calculating look on her face, and Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the idea that Narcissa Black was seeing Draco, his supposed fiancée and a baby, sitting together like a family. Oh, _Merlin_.

“We’re not engaged!”

Both Narcissa and Draco looked undisturbed by her outburst. 

“Of course not, darling. Draco told me the truth about the situation. Mrs Llewellyn really is quite old fashioned about these things.”

“Yes, but, isn’t that why—,”

“--why I invited you here?” Narcissa laughed lightly. Draco handed Hermione her glass and she took a sip, surprised to find that it was her favourite. Teddy promptly dipped his little hand into the glass.

“I thought you might want proof or something...” Hermione was uncertain now, glancing between Draco and his mother. She faltered. _If it wasn’t to interrogate her, why did Narcissa Black invite her over?_

“Hermione, darling, I don’t know if Draco has told you, but I am a Legilimens too. I saw the truth in his mind when he told me what had transpired at your home with Mrs Llewelleyn and I can see it reflected in your own mind right now. I assure you, I’m not here to do anything but offer you dinner.”

“Oh, Mother, seriously? Stop reading her mind!” Draco placed his wine glass on the coffee table and took Teddy from Hermione, standing up. “She doesn’t like it.”

Hermione let out a disbelieving laugh. “Excuse me, that didn’t stop _you_!”

“I said sorry, Granger, what do you want?”

“You didn’t say sorry! You specifically said you _weren’t_ sorry about it.”

“Semantics.”

“Oh, please.”

“ _Children_ , let’s settle down, shall we?” Narcissa looked like she was trying not to smile. “Draco, why don’t you take Teddy to the garden to pluck some basil for the bouquet garni?”

There was some unsaid message that passed between mother and son, and Draco nodded, turning and walking out of the room, giving Hermione a look that she couldn't quite decipher. Narcissa put her glass on the mantle above the fireplace and came to sit next to her. 

“Now that we’re alone, I can tell you the real reason that I called you here.” Narcissa took Hermione’s free hand with both of her own. “I would like to apologise to you.”

“What?”

Narcissa looked at their joined hands and sighed, her face a painting of regret. Up close, Hermione saw the tell-tale signs of a woman who had been through hell and back. There were faint frown lines etched into her forehead, her mouth was in a permanent state of worry, and her eyes were much dimmer than she remembered them. Even her hands were trembling.

“I cannot begin to show my forgiveness for what my family put you, your friends and _your_ family through last year. Draco told me what you had to do for your parents. Even more so than that; the torture inflicted upon you in my house, the pain my sister caused you—,” her voice broke but she carried on, “—makes me sick to my stomach. We—, I stood by and watched, complicity. I am so very sorry, Hermione. Truly. All of the blood purity rubbish, it means nothing to me now.”

“Really?” Hermione couldn’t help the trace of scepticism in her voice. 

“I’ll tell you when it sank in for me. I was already having so many doubts and concerns, especially after what Draco was forced to do in his sixth year of school.” She took a deep breath to ready herself. “The Dar—Voldemort kept our house as a gathering area. He would summon prisoners there to interrogate them, and sometimes he would just order the Death Eaters to bring him a family of Muggles to torture. After seeing him,” she shuddered, “cut the throat of a little Muggle girl, my mind changed. I couldn’t bear it. That poor child, barely six years old, bled to death on my dining table and her blood was the same colour as mine. As Draco’s. How could I keep believing in blood purity, when we pure-bloods were committing such heinous, despicable crimes? You have to know how ashamed I am. Every night, I see that child when I close my eyes. Forgive me, Hermione, please. Forgive my cowardice, my blindness and my inaction.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Hermione really didn’t. She certainly hadn’t expected this. “I never blamed you, uh, Narcissa.”

Narcissa’s eyes shot up to look at Hermione. “What?”

Hermione swallowed the anxiety stuck in her throat and decided to muster up a shred of Gryffindor courage and speak the truth. 

“I never blamed you because you did what any mother would do.”

“You mean, poison my son’s mind and make him go along with my ex-husband’s idiotic schemes?” Narcissa scoffed, sounding bitter. Hermione shook her head and squeezed the older witch’s hands. 

“You _protected_ your family, as I would have done in your place. Anyway, you’re different now. You don’t hate me anymore, right?” 

“ _Hate_ you?” Narcissa laughed, harshly. “Hermione, regardless of the fact that I no longer stay by those antiquated beliefs, you _saved_ Draco’s life. If it wasn’t for your kindness, my son would have bled to death on the stones in the castle.”

“You know about that?”

“I was in his mind the whole time that I was in the castle, and in yours when he saw you coming towards him. I saw you fall to your knees in front of him, I saw you heal him. I am in your debt for the rest of my life. You saved my son.”

Hermione was distracted by a detail in Narcissa’s explanation.

“You say you were in my head, and in Draco’s — exactly how powerful a Legilimens are you? You must have been half a kilometre away from us when it happened.”

Narcissa nodded. “Well, my son practices very hard, but I’m the _real_ talent in the family.” She grinned. Hermione’s jaw dropped. She never thought she would see a member of the Malfoy family grin, and now two of them had grinned at _her_. It was like a strange alternate reality. 

Hermione felt another weight lift off her chest, and then very simply said,

“I forgive you.”

Narcissa looked at her like she was trying very hard not to read her mind. 

“Really?”

“Really. I believe you, and more than that, you saved Harry that night, too. He’s like my brother, so the debt is repaid.” It wasn’t in Hermione’s nature to hold a grudge, and she had always felt pity for the Malfoy matriarch, having to go along with her husband’s decisions and watching her son suffer the consequences. “I forgive you, and that’s all we have to say about it.”

The older witch’s eyes filled with tears and for a second, Hermione was scared that she was going to cry, but then, Narcissa was hugging her and Hermione wondered if she was hallucinating this whole situation.

“ _Ahem_ ,” came a cough from the door, and Draco stood there with a green-haired Teddy in his arms. Teddy was clutching onto a large bouquet of basil leaves, which he proudly offered to the women on the couch. Hermione tried to quell the flutter of butterflies in her stomach that had appeared at seeing Draco looking so domestic. Narcissa stood and inspected the herbs.

“Did you pull up the _whole_ plant?” 

— — — 

Narcissa dished out bœuf bourguignon onto plates. Teddy sat in a high chair next to her and she put a few pieces of carrot and beef onto his plate, breaking them down with a fork before letting him have at his dinner.

“Hermione, would you like bread or mashed potatoes? Or both?”

“Mashed potatoes, please.”

Draco passed the dish to her before turning his attention to his plate.

“Mother, this looks wonderful.”

“I thought I would try it,” Narcissa sat down and brushed her long silky hair behind her back, “and I know it doesn’t taste like Corrie’s, but it’s a start.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco.

“Corrie was our house-elf. She was free,” he quickly added, trying to dissipate the alarm on Hermione’s face, “but we weren’t allowed to keep her with us after our trials.”

“And I’ve still got — how much time is it, Draco? Fourteen months?”

“Thirteen.”

“—thirteen months left until I can use my wand again. That is why,” Narcissa gestured to the table, “I’ve taken up a hobby.”

“Well,” Hermione speared a piece of beef and smiled, “it’s delicious. You’re very talented.”

“I would say the same about you, from what Draco has told me about the meal you cooked.”

“Oh, that was just soup and bread.”

“He said it was the be—,”

“Mother, where is Aunt Andromeda this evening? I thought you said she’d be home?”

Hermione wondered this, too. 

“She had to Floo back to Surrey for an emergency and she's staying there overnight. Nothing serious, just an issue with the wards on her house. They need to be redone and I think she's having a professional come in to do it.”

“I hope I’ll get to meet her soon,” Hermione said, “because I haven’t seen her in a few months.”

“Of course, darling, we’ll have you over for tea so you can catch up with her.”

Teddy threw his fork at Hermione and her reflexes allowed her to suspend it magically in mid-air, inches from her face.

“My, my. I knew you were a powerful witch, but wandless magic? Non-verbal, too?”. Narcissa looked impressed. “No wonder my son complained about you so much when he came back home for the holidays.” It was said with so much teasing that Hermione laughed.

“ _Mother_.”

— — — 

“Draco tells me that you volunteer to help that sweet old lady in the bookshop, is that correct. Dorothy Owens, I believe?” 

Teddy was dozing on the sofa in between Hermione and Draco while everyone drank port in the sitting room. Hermione was patting Teddy’s chest softly and Draco had his hand covering the baby’s feet so he wouldn’t get cold. 

“I love books, you see, and she seemed to be overwhelmed by the amount of them.”

“Yes, well, from what I gather, she’s had a rough time since her husband passed away.”

“Really?” Hermione was curious but Draco groaned.

“Mother, seriously, you need to stop. Just get to know people the normal way. No Legilimency.”

“Says you,” Hermione retorted, “Mr _Privacy Invader_.” It was a pathetic joke but Draco grinned, anyway.

“No, no, you’re absolutely right. I read just a little, but,” Narcissa sipped her drink, “there’s something quite secret that she keeps hidden away. Some memories that I’m sure I could work on extracting but they seemed quite private.” She stood and went to pick up the sleeping baby. “I’ll just go and put him in his cot.”

Left alone, Draco frowned. “She never has trouble with private memories. I found _that_ out the hard way. I think she was trying to get us to figure out what Mrs Owens is hiding.”

Hermione didn’t have time to ask him what she found out about her son, because her mind was already focused on Mrs Owens.

“Do you think it’s a terrible secret? Maybe it’s something really awful she did that she keeps buried in herself? Could you use your own Legilimency to see what it is?"

“I don't know how to access deep memories, yet. I can only look through the front of your mind, the clearer, present thoughts and feelings.”

“Should we ask your mother?”

Draco shook his head. “She’ll never tell us. She reads everyone's minds without a care in the world but has some ridiculous moral code when it comes to sharing what she finds. She’s quite stubborn like that."

“I know the type.”

“Oh, come off it, I was never stubborn.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

They were both laughing and didn’t see Narcissa lurking in the shadowy corridor, smiling at the noise.

— — — 

“That was a surprising dinner.” Hermione wrapped her shawl around her arms as the cool night air danced across her skin. Draco nodded, looking at the pebbled pathway as they made their way down the street. 

“In truth, I was a little worried that you wouldn’t let her talk to you, but I had a reason to have faith.”

“Why?”

“Look at you and me. We don’t hate each other. In fact,” he looked at her with uncertainty in his features, “we’re friends.”

It was true. Every day spent with Draco in the bookshop, Hermione ceased to be amazed that their relationship had moved from such hatred to such comfortable amicability. Without her friends at her side, and without his father lurking behind him, they had more in common than she had ever realised. They both loved books and enjoyed the comfortable silence that hung in the air as they worked. He was smart, eager to learn, funny and a gentleman. He never let Hermione carry heavy books or climb too high on a ladder and Mrs Owens was treated by him as if she was a goddess on earth. 

“Yes, well, you basically annoyed me into being your friend, so I can’t really argue with that.”

“Not to mention, we’re getting married in the summer if Mrs Owens has her way.” He joked, and she laughed into the silence that surrounded them.

“Speaking of Mrs Owens, how do you suppose we get her to tell us what happened in her life?”

“A dose of Veritaserum?”

“An _ethical_ way to get her to talk.”

By the time Draco had walked Hermione back to the bakery, they had come up with a plan to get the truth out of Mrs Owens, and finally figure out why the old lady was so secretive about her life. And the mysterious _Frederick,_ the husband that they had never heard more than one or two words about. 

“You know,” Hermione turned to face Draco as they stilled, “I never thought about this before, but you’re still allowed to Apparate, right? Why didn’t we just Apparate to your house and back today?”

Draco shrugged, his hands in his pockets. 

“I like walking. It’s even better when you’ve got good company.”

Hermione smiled, the butterflies returning to wreak havoc in her stomach.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight,” he hesitated, “Hermione.”

There it was. No hiding behind surnames. Hermione didn’t know what spurred her to do it, but suddenly, she was raising herself on her toes and placing her hands on his shoulders, to place a kiss on his cheek. And then, before she could look at his face, she turned and ran upstairs to her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. Crookshanks _meowed_ with annoyance from his seat on the sofa and Hermione dropped to sit next to him.

“What have I _done_ , Crooks?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this iteration of Narcissa Black. She's not as haughty as I've come to see in other stories - I love haughty Narcissa too, don't get me wrong - but I think casual Narcissa deserves a turn in the spotlight, too. She deserves to wear jeans and let her hair down, don't you agree?
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! xx


	6. War Is War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys just keep coming with the positivity and kindness so here is your present: a second chapter posted today. I just finished writing it and I was too excited to wait, so here you go. Chapter 6 is ready for you to enjoy. Thank you for your continued support. 😘😘😘
> 
> Love to you all xx
> 
> P.S. Special thanks to valancyjane74, CaptainCheshire and Caramelminx ❤️

“Well, the plan’s off.” Hermione arrived at the bookshop early the next morning. A week ago, Mrs Owens had given Hermione and Draco copies of the key to the bookshop and Draco was already in the store, reading a textbook. He looked up and stood to take the coffees that Hermione held in her hands. 

“Which is mine?”

“Left.”

“Thanks. Why is the plan off?”

“Because I was just talking to Mr Lewellyn in the bakery, I got you a _pain au chocolat_ by the way, and he said I shouldn’t go digging around for information about Mrs Owens’ past.”

“That makes me even more interested.”

Hermione sighed, taking a long sip of her coffee. “Me too. But Mr Llewellyn said it might upset her to talk about it, because, according to him, she’d always been that way. He said she and her husband were very private about their lives, and that they never talked about themselves. They were very friendly to everyone but they just kept themselves a mystery to the whole village.”

“Well, I have an idea.”

“What, are you learning how to access deeper memories?”

“No, not that. I was thinking about the graveyard in the church garden. Surely her husband is buried there? Maybe we could get some more information, or ask the priest about it?”

“Oh,” Hermione was surprised, “that’s actually very smart. Good job, Poirot.”

“Who?”

“No one, never mind. Let’s go there at lunch.”

— — —

“Excuse me, sir?” Draco called out. Hermione nudged him with her elbow.

“Reverend.”

“Excuse me, _Reverend_?”

The old man looked up and squinted at the two figures standing at the entrance to the church. 

“Come in, come in.”

They walked closer. Hermione smiled at the priest.

“My name is Hermione and this is Draco—,”

“Ah, I know about you two. You’re here to discuss your upcoming wedding, I imagine?”

“No!” Hermione shouted loud enough for her voice to echo. “No, uh, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“ _Yet_.” Draco added, smiling charmingly at the priest. “Actually, we’ll probably be here to see you soon for that very reason, but we’ve come for something else today. We wanted to ask if you remember Frederick Owens?”

“The carpenter?”

“Yes! The carpenter.” Hermione made a mental note. 

“Are you here to visit his grave?”

“Oh, we were just about to, but we thought we’d come in and say hello to you first.” 

“He and his wife used to come in every Sunday for Mass, you know.” 

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. They were both very devout. After his passing, I don’t think she had the energy to come back without him.”

“I see.”

“But she’s a good woman, that Dorothy. Good woman.”

“And Frederick?”

“What about him?”

“What was he like?”

“Oh, he was a fine man. Always fixed the roof of the church for free." The old man seemed to think for a minute, his eyes drifting to the stained glass window. "Had an odd accent for a few years when they first came here but soon straightened out.”

“Wait,” Hermione held up a hand, “did you say ‘ _when they came here_ ’? They weren’t always from Churchbury?”

“No, no, they moved here from London.”

“So he had a London accent?” Draco asked.

“No, young man. Something foreign.”

“When did they move?”

“About forty-seven, forty-eight, I think.”

“Three years after the war.”

“It was quiet around here when they came because most of our boys didn’t come home. They were quite young. Your age, really.”

“So, he fought in the war?”

“I’d imagine so, but he never liked to talk about it. Alway”

Hermione had an idea. 

“Thank you for your time, Reverend,” she shook his hand, “we really appreciate your help.”

— — — 

_Frederick Owens_

_1925 - 1996_

_Beloved husband of Dorothy._

_“For love will conquer_

_and will endure for all eternity.”_

Hermione was reminded of the day that she and Harry had stopped to pay their respects to Harry’s parents’ graves in Godric’s Hollow and she decided to conjure a bouquet of red poppies to place by the stone.

“Here, do you want to put them down?” She offered the flowers to Draco, who nodded and placed them by the grave. 

“I feel odd being here without Mrs Owens knowing.”

“He was only twenty-three when he came here with Mrs Owens. She must have been the same age, or younger.”

“And they came three years after the war, so they really were just our age when the war ended.”

Hermione looked at the headstone again, frowning.

“What is it?” Draco asked. 

“Just, I don’t know, I feel like I’ve read that quote before.”

“Where? School?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t remember. It just seems so familiar.”

“Let’s go, before she wonders where we are.” Draco gently pulled on Hermione’s arm, biding her to follow him back towards the bookshop.

— — — 

The next evening, Hermione invited Draco over to watch another movie and have dinner. She was nervous. One one hand, she felt awkward about having him back at her flat, especially since the last time he was here, they had somehow gotten themselves into a really big mess. On the other hand, he was the only friend she had in the village below the age of sixty.

Hermione had called Ginny and was crouching by the fire, chatting to her.

“I’ve made your Mum’s recipe for roast chicken and potatoes.”

“For your future husband, you mean?”

“Gin, you _know_ it’s just a pretend thing so we don’t ruffle too many feathers around town.”

“Yes, but I do _so_ love making you squirm. Anyway, why are you nervous? He clearly likes you, stop fretting.”

“I’m not nervous, he doesn’t like me, and I’m not fretting!”

“He does so! Come off it, Hermione, he’s been following you around town for the past month. What do you think, it’s all a ruse to get you to trust him before he does something nasty?”

“Do you think it could be?”

“Stop being an idiot. For a really smart person, you’re quite thick sometimes.”

Hermione disregarded the comment. “I don’t know why we’re getting along so well here.”

“Could it be because Rita Skeeter, Ron and Pansy Parkinson are all far away from Churchbury, and it’s just the two of you in your private little world?”

There was a knock at the door.

“I have to go, he’s here.”

“Okay, have a good night, but make sure you remember the contraceptive char—,” Hermione cut the call before Ginny made her blush, and dusted the ashes that had settled on her jeans. She was dressed nicely, but not too nicely, in case Draco thought that this was some sort of date. Which it was not. 

Opening the door, she looked at him standing on her doormat, looking equally as casual and holding a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

“I think we should mature your taste in wine.”

“Hello to you too.”

As he stepped into the flat and removed his jacket, Draco sniffed the air. 

“Roast chicken?”

“Yes.”

“Good, it’s been ages. Mother burnt the last one she attempted to make. What’s the movie tonight?”

“The Birdcage.”

“Sounds bizarre.”

“Just pour the wine, would you.”

— — — 

By the halfway mark of the movie, Draco was silently laughing and wiping tears from his eyes. Hermione couldn’t believe how much he was enjoying the film, but here they were, sitting on the sofa and having a great time. 

“This,” he wheezed, “is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Who is the moustachioed man?”

“Robin Williams. He’s a great actor.”

“Let’s just watch his movies from now on.”

— — — 

The credits were rolling. 

“So, they get married and everything is fine? Her father doesn’t care that the in-laws aren’t— what did you call them? Redoublicans?”

“Republicans, and I don’t know. I guess that’s the fun of it, you get to decide what happens next.”

There was a silence as Draco stared at the names on the screen and Hermione ran her fingers down the soft blanket that she had draped over them. Not in a romantic way at all. 

“Granger?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember when you said the reason we weren’t together was that you weren’t good enough to marry me?”

Hermione smirked. It was becoming a habit of hers and she blamed it on spending so much time with Draco.

“You mean; when we were spinning a web of lies to soothe Mrs Lewellyn's delicate sensibilities?”

“Yes. I was wondering…” He trailed off, not removing his eyes from the television screen. Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

“You were wondering…?”

“Never mind.”

“ _Draco_.”

He glanced at her when she said his name, a small smile threatening to break on his lips. 

“Were you serious about it?”

“What, that I’m not good enough?”

“Yes. Do you think that my family feels that way?”

“About me? Or muggle-borns? Or people who don’t have mansions?”

“You, specifically.”

“Well,” Hermione tucked the blanket around herself, “I’ve never really given it a lot of thought.” _That was a lie. She had been thinking about this since she slapped him in third-year._

“You shouldn’t.”

“What, think about it?”

“Think you’re not good enough. If anything,” he shifted, turning his body towards her, “I’m the one who’s not good enough for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ being ridiculous? Let’s review the facts here, shall we?” He started counting off reasons on his long fingers. “You’re the most beloved witch in the world and I’m hated by most people who know me. You were the smartest student at school, and I only worked hard to try and beat you. You’re a beacon of goodness. The entire village has fallen in love with you in a matter of weeks. My own mother can’t stop talking about you, it’s like you’re the child she never had. And most importantly, you are so completely out of my league that I’m surprised you’ve even let me be your friend.”

Hermione glared at Draco. She couldn’t believe he was starting this nonsense.

“Beacon of goodness?” She poked his shoulder. “That is the most revolting thing I have ever heard.”

“Don’t deny it.”

“Why can’t you accept that I’m not some perfect, model human being? I’ve made plenty of my own mistakes, you know. I’m flawed. You’re flawed. Get over it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Realistic.”

“What are you trying to prove here? Do you want me to tell you that I’m too good for your company? Should we not be friends? Do you _want_ me to leave you alone?”

“No, but—,”

“Then why are you being such a brat?”

Draco blinked at her in such a haughty manner that Hermione nearly threw a pillow at him.

“I am _not_ a brat.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood to take the videocassette out of the player. She put in season one of Sabrina the Teenage Witch and went to sit back on the couch, huffing as she did. She really disliked Draco putting himself down, but arguing with him, without any actual hatred or malice, felt cathartic. All of the built-up awkwardness and tension that seemed to fog up their interactions needed somewhere to go.

“You know, sometimes I think you start fights with me just because you’re bored.”

— — — 

Hermione pushed a book towards Draco and tapped on the cover.

“I’ve checked this from cover to cover and there is no mention of a Frederick Owens fighting in the British Army.”

Draco thumbed through the book. It was a list of all the British soldiers who had fought during World War II, finding the start of surnames beginning with “O”.

“Do you think he deserted? Or maybe he was discharged dishonourably?”

“I don’t know. It seems unlikely.”

“He would have been fourteen when the war broke out, so,” Draco tilted his head in thought, “we can assume he was conscripted at age eighteen in 1943.”

“Right.” Hermione thought for a second. “I didn’t know you knew anything about Muggle wars.”

“War is war. I’m a guy.” He unfolded his crossed legs and stood up, walking to a nearby pile of photography books. Hermione threw her hands in the air.

“What does that even _mean_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Theories? If you have any, write them below. I won't be saying anything to agree or disagree with them but I would love to know where you think this is going. I spent a couple of days figuring out the ending myself, so I wonder if anyone else is getting their sleuthing caps on!
> 
> xxx


	7. Tequila

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! You keep thanking me for writing when I should be thanking you! Every time you comment, it feels like a birthday present! It's like I've got all these wonderful friends all around the world and I'm very grateful for each and every one of you.
> 
> I've got my friends coming around to my place for dinner right now, so I wrote this within the last half an hour. It probably has some mistakes, and I'll go back through it later tonight. It's another filler chapter but we have a cute little end part. Tomorrow is just another chapter full of fluff. Buckle up!
> 
> For now, thank you for all your guesses on last night's chapter. As I said to many of you in the comments, my lips are sealed. 
> 
> Today, I fleshed out the entire rest of the story and wrote some extra little goodies for added feels. All in all, there should be about twenty chapters to this story when we get to the end. All things that you have to look forward to in the next couple of weeks. Okay, I have to go get ready for my friends. Love you all! Enjoy and let me know what you think!
> 
> Someone asked me if I ever considered posting on fanfiction.net - let me know if you guys think it's a good idea and I'll get right on it! 
> 
> Love you all!

Hermione stood and bent to touch her toes. She groaned. 

“I keep sitting hunched over and then my back is sore all night.”

Draco looked up from the piles of sheet music he was sorting into folders.

“You were beginning to remind me of Filch.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“The resemblance is uncanny.”

Hermione ignored him and spun to face Mrs Owens. 

“I have to speak to you about something.”

“Yes, dear?”

“My parents are visiting on the weekend and I haven’t told them that Draco and I are together.”

“Do they not approve?”

“Not exactly. They don’t even know he’s here, or that we know each other outside of school. They don’t want me to get married too young.”

“Well, when it’s love, it’s love.” 

“I’m going to bring them in here so they can meet you, but we can’t even bring up Draco, okay? I’ve already spoken to Mrs Llewellyn and she agreed to let everyone know not to mention it in case they run into us.” She spun to look at Draco. “And _you_. You’re going to stay at home with your family for the whole day, okay? No funny business.”

He considered it, before nodding. 

“If it makes you happy.”

Hermione couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or just accomodating. 

— — — 

Hermione’s parents insisted on driving up from London. They arrived in the late morning and Hermione took them all around the village. They first stopped at Hermione’s flat, before going down to the bakery to pick out pastries for breakfast. 

“Oh, sweetie, this place is lovely, don’t you think, Thomas?”

“Really, Hermione, I see why you insisted on spending time here. I wouldn’t mind it myself.”

“But, dear, we would have no business. There must be about twenty families in the village.”

“Right you are, Claire. Too quiet for two dentists, I think.”

Hermione enjoyed hearing her parents talk. She had missed their lighthearted banter during the year she was a stranger to them, and it was good to hear their voices again. She walked in-between them, pointing out the church and the town hall. Several villagers stopped to say hello and Hermione introduced them to her parents. Thankfully, no-one congratulated them on their future son-in-law. After lunch by the lake and a photoshoot with her dad’s new camera, they spent a couple more hours walking around and catching up.

“Mum, look over there. We’re going to go in there for tea and then we’ll go next door to see Mrs Owens, okay?”

“Okay, dear. Oh, but wait, let’s go see that little shop over there first!” Her mother pointed to the grocery store.

“Sure, let’s go.”

Inside, Hermione let her mind glaze over as her parents ooh’ed and aah’ed over local jams and cheeses. She was looking at the fruit section when her eyes narrowed. Draco entered the store, pushing Teddy in a pram. He saw Hermione, froze, and turned down an aisle. Hermione stalked after him and grabbed his collar, yanking him back.

“What did I tell you?” She hissed, furiously. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I know, I shouldn’t have come, but Mother and Aunt Andromeda are in London for the day and they left Teddy with me.”

“Couldn’t you go for a walk in that huge garden of yours?”

“We ran out of apples.”

“So?”

“Teddy throws a massive tantrum if he doesn’t get an apple for his afternoon snack every day.”

“Draco, I swear to Godric, if you—,”

“Hermione? Who’s this?” Her mother came up behind her, smiling pleasantly. Hermione admitted defeat, stepping to the side.

“Mother, you remember Draco from school?”

“The boy you kept going on about?”

Hermione would have let Voldemort end her right there if he was still up and about. Draco leaned past Hermione and shook her mother’s hand, grinning in way that looked very charming but was actually very annoying. 

“Hello, Mrs Granger, I’m Draco, and I’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s lovely to see you here, Draco. I think the last time I saw you was in that bookstore in Diagon Alley when you both were little. Isn’t that right, Hermione?” Claire caught sight of Teddy, who was wearing a very large beanie that covered all of his hair. “And who’s this?” She cooed, bending to say hello to the little boy. Teddy waved at her. 

“This is my nephew, Teddy.”

“What a little darling!”

“Mum, we really should be going—,”

“Oh, but does Draco want to join us for tea? It would be so nice to meet another one of Hermione’s friends. We love Harry and Ron, but I was beginning to think that our daughter only had two friends in school!”

Hermione closed her eyes. The day could not get worse.

“Claire? Who’ve we run into?” Hermione’s father walked up, his arms full of relishes and jams. 

“This is Hermione’s school friend, Draco and his nephew, Teddy. Draco, this is my husband, Thomas.”

The men forwent handshakes to avoid Thomas dropping all the jars. 

“Lovely to meet you, son.”

“He’s coming to tea with us, so we can talk more.”

“Sounds good, darling, but do you want to help me with these first? I’ve got plenty for us, and some to gift to friends.”

“Good idea. Is that enough, do you think? Maybe a few more. I’ll go get them.”

Hermione’s parents disappeared back to the preserves section and Hermione gave Draco a nasty glare and he returned her a cheeky smile.

“Don’t read their minds, okay?”

“I promise.” He gestured for her to go before him. “So you went _on and on_ about me to your parents, huh?”

— — — 

Teddy sat in-between Draco and Hermione, disintegrating a scone in his hands. He giggled. 

“Your nephew is really quite a sweet boy.” Claire waved at him and suddenly, the little boy’s eyes went from blue to brown. “Oh. Is that— wait, did his eyes just change colour?”

Hermione sighed and put down her teacup. 

“Yes, Mum. Teddy is a special baby. He’s able to—,”

“Morph.” Draco provided, helpfully.

“—morph his features. It will get easier to control when he grows up but now, he can’t help it. He changes all the time. That’s why his hair is covered, because it changes colour too.”

Hermione’s parents, who were not very used to magically creatures, stared in shock. 

“Well, that’s just—,”

“How extraordinary!”

“Show us his hair!”

“No, Dad! We’re in _public_!”

— — — 

“Do Teddy’s parents live here, too, Draco?”

Draco swallowed a piece of cake and gave Hermione a look. 

“No, Mum,” she jumped in, “they both died during the war.”

“Oh, God, that’s awful. Just like Harry, eh?” Thomas shook his head. 

“Yes. Actually, Harry is Teddy’s godfather. His father and Teddy’s father were best friends.” Hermione explained. 

“I suppose it’s nice that he has so many people around him.”

“Yes, and his grandmother is his primary caregiver.” Draco said. 

“And you live with them?”

“Yes, my mother and I both.”

“Did you know Draco was living here when you moved?” Claire addressed her daughter, a glint of something in her eye. 

“No, Mum, we met by chance.”

“Right, right.”

“ _Mum_ , seriously!”

— — — 

After tea, Draco bid them goodbye to put Teddy down for a nap, and Hermione and her parents went to visit Mrs Owens next door. 

“How was your tea, Mrs Granger?”

“Oh, please call me Claire. And call my husband Thomas.”

“Then you must call me Dorothy.”

“Tea was lovely. We met Hermione’s friend, Draco.” at this, Mrs Owens looked at Hermione with surprise on her face. “He’s such a lovely boy. Such good manners.”

“Yes, I’ve always thought he’s had a soft spot for your daughter, Claire.”

“Really? Now that you mention it, I do believe I could say the same! It was the way he was looking at her, I think. She’s had a crush on him for years, you know?”

Hermione rested her head against a shelf and sighed. 

— — — 

Hermione hugged her parents, feeling sad that they were going, but happy that she finally got to see them after such a long while.

“Sweetheart, I’m so glad we came today. It was such good weather for it. I’m really happy to know you’re doing so well here. This little village suits you so well, and I’m glad you found Mrs Owens. She’s a wonderful lady.” Her mother brushed her hair down. “And,” she added, "I’m _really_ glad we got to meet Draco. He’s very, very lovely.”

The way she said it made Hermione wonder. It was almost like she was trying to tell her something. Before she could think on it, her father was squeezing her.

“Love, you’ve got a tool kit here, right?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Make sure keep it clean. Don’t let anything rust over.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“And remember, never open a door to strangers.”

“Okay, Thomas, she’s an adult now. Let’s go.”

As they got in the car, Hermione waved and stood there, watching them drive down the path until they were no longer in sight. She tilted her head up to the evening sky and smiled. 

— — —

That night, after a comfort meal of mashed potatoes and butter, Hermione sat on the couch, reading Great Expectations. There was a tap on the door. She opened it with her wand, knowing full well who was standing outside. He kept standing there, looking straight ahead to avoid her glare.

“Okay, before I come in, I just want to gauge how angry you are.”

“You had _one_ _job_.”

He stepped in, holding a box.

“Well, they loved me, so is it really that bad?”

“I told you not to read their minds!”

“You don’t have to be a mind reader to know when you’re in with the parents, Granger.”

“I just cannot believe we got through today without them hearing the word “ _engaged_ ” once.”

“Anyway, I brought you this chocolate cake as my very apologetic apology.” He handed her the box and went to the kitchen to get to forks. She felt a jump in her heart at seeing him so comfortable in her home.

“My mum thinks we like each other. I think she kind of wants us to date.”

“Well,” Draco handed her a fork and settled down next to her, “I mean, the whole village is rooting for us too, maybe we _should_ just be together.”

He laughed, and she laughed too, unsure if he was joking again. As they settled on the sofa to eat cake from the box and watch _My Cousin Vinny_ , Hermione had to tell herself several times that they were just friends and that this was just what friends did. Right?

— — — 

Hermione woke up, opening one eye. She had been having a very good dream. It was warm and the sun was shining through her window…but, it was the wrong window. She blinked, realising that she was still in the lounge. She must have fallen asleep here instead of making it back to her bedroom. Suddenly, her sofa moved beneath her. 

“Oh my god.”

Shifting slightly, she tilted her face up to realise that she was currently lying on top of Draco, his hands wrapped around her back and her head tucked underneath his chin. 

“Um, Granger?” His voice was gravelly in the morning. That was a nice surprise. 

“Yes?” It came out as a squeak.

“Did we get drunk last night?”

There was a bottle of tequila on the coffee table and it was empty. She groaned and pulled herself up and off Draco, who was looking as mortified as she felt. Glancing down, she was very relieved to find that she was fully clothed in last night’s shorts and t-shirt.

“I think we did tequila shots after we saw them do it in the movie.”

“Which movie was that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh, Merlin’s balls, my head is aching.” Draco sat up, dropping his face into his hands and groaning. Hermione stood on shaky legs and backed away from him. 

“I’m just going to, uh —,” she pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and he nodded, looking sheepish. She spun around and speed-walked out of the lounge before throwing herself into her bedroom. She shook Ginny’s ornament vigorously before crouching by the tiny fireplace facing her bed. Ginny’s face appeared, looking sleepy. 

“Mmm, what? Do you know what time it is?”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed in a whisper. “I just slept with Draco Malfoy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sure you can tell that it was a rushed chapter but I needed to set the ball rolling with the whole drunken-Tequila-sleeping situation. Tomorrow's piece will be a whole lot better, I promise! xxx


	8. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Chapter 8 is up and there are feels EVERYWHERE. 
> 
> I want to know who your favourite character is, aside from Hermione and Draco. I don't know who I'd pick. 
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know if you liked this chapter!
> 
> Lots of love, as always. ❤️

“Was he good? I had a bet running with the girls in my year at school.”

“What? No, not like that. I didn’t _sleep_ sleep with him, I just slept with him.”

“Ohhhhh, so it was actually just you and him sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.”

“What will his mother think?”

“Why is that your primary concern? Anyway, where _is_ he? Still sleeping? In the shower, waiting for you to join him?”

“ _No_ , he’s in the lounge. I literally just woke up, got off him and came in here.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You got _off_ him?”

“I may have snuggled up on his chest when we were drunk.”

“ _Merlin_ , Hermione. You’re really trying to kill this man, aren’t you.”

“What do I do?”

“Maybe stop talking to me and go deal with the situation, i.e. get some action.”

“Ugh, _bye_ , Ginny.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Does he smell as good as he looks?”

Hermione ended the call and walked back into the sitting room, trying to look calm. Draco was standing awkwardly by the sofa, hands in his jean pockets. Hermione tried not to smile. He was so soft and vulnerable-looking in the early morning light. His hair was a disaster and she loved it.

“Um,” he mumbled, “do you want me to go?”

Hermione shook her head, because she truly didn’t. It was their day off. They had time.

“Are you hungry?”

After a dose each of Pepper-Up Potion and a large mug of black coffee, both Hermione and Draco were feeling a lot less hungover. Hermione decided that French toast was exactly what they needed. After popping downstairs to the bakery to ask Mrs Lewellyn if there was any stale bread from yesterday that she could buy, she got to work.

While the slices of custard-soaked brioche were frying in butter, she sat down next to Draco. He was reading _The Quibbler_ , which was delivered daily alongside the _Daily Prophet_.

“I didn’t know you read _The Quibbler_.” She remarked, side-eyeing him. He turned the page and nodded, the smirk at the corner of his mouth betraying his serious face.

“Interesting articles.”

“Draco.”

“The truth is, I got very used to Luna Lovegood while she was in our dungeons. She’s a good friend now, actually. Reading this magazine makes me think of her.”

Hermione frowned. 

“You got _used_ to Luna?”

“Oh, yes. Father was away most of the time, so Mother would release the wards and let her come upstairs.”

“I’m surprised no-one ratted you out.”

“The house-elves pitied her as much as we did. We made sure she was fed, but not too much, or Father would notice. If she looked even minutely healthy, there would be trouble. We’d let her have baths once or twice a week but then she had to smudge dirt on her face when she went back down. Sometimes, when Father was away for long periods of time, we could sneak her into a bedroom to have a proper sleep.”

“I didn’t know. I’m really glad she had you looking out for her.”

“She and I would have long conversations, most of the time about nothing even remotely sane.”

“I can imagine. That’s Luna.” Hermione smiled, sadly. She missed Luna’s eccentricity, but the girl had forgone her last year of Hogwarts to go travelling with her new friend, Rolf Scamander. She often sent letters, but it wasn’t the same.

“I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t think we mistreated her.”

“I don’t. When we saw her after we escaped, she was looking remarkably at peace. I don’t think that would have been the case if she had been tortured and beaten non-stop at your house.”

Draco nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Hermione pointed her wand at the frying pan and the pieces of bread flipped themselves over. 

“If I think about it, she’s one of the only friends I have.” Draco said, hiding his face behind _The Quibbler_.

“What about Pansy and Blaise?”

“They’re friends, I suppose. In a manner of speaking.”

“Is Pansy still trying to beat out all the other pure-blooded Slytherin girls from our year to be the future Mrs Draco Malfoy?”

“No, thankfully. She gave up around the end of sixth-year.”

They fell silent for a few minutes. 

“Did you know,” Draco said, “that I’m the primary investor for this magazine?”

“Shut up.”

“I know it’s not going to make up for what happened to her at Malfoy Manor, but I’d like to think she’s able to do what she likes with the magazine without having to think about money. She deserves that artistic freedom.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled at the thought of Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood being good friends, “for taking care of her when she was at your house. And for taking care of her now. She’s very special to me and the boys, you know?”

Draco lowered the magazine and gave Hermione a wry smile. 

“It was the very least I could do.”

Hermione was impressed at his humility and the pride in her heart made her beam at her empty plate. When the French toast was done, they ate.

“Is it too sweet?” Hermione asked, worriedly. 

Draco shook his head. 

“No, it’s perfect.”

“It’s my Grandpa’s recipe. He’s a sugar addict.”

“Isn’t sugar the enemy of dentists everywhere? Your father told me that.”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, it is. But I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Thank you, it’s delicious.”

Hermione stopped eating and looked at Draco with a funny thought running through her head. He noticed and paused, a forkful of bread halfway to his mouth. 

“Something the matter?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are we really going to play this game?”

Hermione grinned. “It’s nothing, honestly. I was just thinking,” she ran her finger around the edge of her plate, “how normal this seems.”

“What’s normal?”

“You and me, eating breakfast here. We spend hours sorting through books without using our magic to help, we watch movies on my tiny TV set. We walk around the village instead of Apparating everywhere. We’re living like Muggles.”

Draco gave her a pointed look before tilting his chin upwards at the dishes cleaning themselves in the sink, and the frying pan flipping a second round of toast. 

“Okay, we’re living like Muggles with _slight_ magical assistance.”

He chuckled and downed his coffee.

After they finished breakfast, Draco stood, handing the plates to the scrubber and soap dispenser in the sink, before pulling his jacket on. 

“I’ll head off now. Thank you, for last night and for breakfast this morning.”

“My pleasure. Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to—,” 

“I’m not sorry, Granger.”

Hermione looked up from where she had focused her gaze on the carpet.

“You’re not?”

Draco looked visibly uncomfortable, but shook his head. “No. Best sleep I’ve had since fifth-year.”

Hermione decided to be brave. “Okay, well, if we’re being honest, neither am I. Sorry, that is. You’re a comfortable pillow.”

Draco’s features lit up. “Movie tonight, then?”

“Yes, but come after nine. Ron and Harry are staying for dinner.”

Draco made a disgusted face.

“Ugh, say no more, I’ll be here after nine. Mother’s attempting to make a trifle today so I’ll bring some for you if it’s edible.”

“See you then.” Hermione was uncertain when they had evolved into the kind of people who watched movies together in the late hours of the night, but she was pretty sure that it had become the highlight of her days. 

“Oh! You should know,” he said, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, “that when you make Floo calls in your bedroom, the people in your sitting room can hear every word.”

He Disapparated before Hermione could even process the words. 

“Damn it.”

— — — 

Hermione let down the wards on her Floo at 5:30 pm. Harry arrived before Ron, and gave Hermione a look. Hermione crossed her arms. 

“Why are you looking at me like I just killed someone?”

“Ginny told me what you’ve been up to.”

“Oh, good grief. Might I remind you that I had to walk in on you and Ginny getting into each other’s pants last Christmas? Not so pleasant for me.”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, no more of this. Ron’s going to be here at any minute and we both know he doesn’t handle news well.”

“He doesn’t handle bad news well. This is like,” Harry paused to think, “the second-coming of the Viktor Krum saga circa the Yule Ball 1994.”

There was a whoosh in the fireplace and Ron stumbled out, coughing on soot. 

“Gosh, Hermione. The place looks great.” He placed a kiss on Hermione’s cheek, pressed a bottle of Firewhisky into her hands and sat down on the sofa. 

“How’s Auror training?”

“Good. Mostly. It’s a bit of a kick up the arse, to be honest. I really hate waking up early. You know? Thought the idea of being an adult meant I could wake up whenever.” Ron shuffled over to let Harry sit next to him. Hermione _Accio’ed_ the two beers and a glass of wine resting on her kitchen counter over to the sitting area and both the boys accepted the drinks with thanks. 

“But,” Harry added, “it’s nice, because they don’t give us special treatment.”

“Yeah, nice. Not like we saved the world last year or anything.” Ron rolled his eyes. 

Hermione sighed and sat back. It was good to have her boys back with her, even if it was only for an evening. 

Later, after the trio had caught up over big plates of risotto, Hermione brought out little pots of chocolate mousse.

“Seriously, Hermione, how small do you think my stomach is?” Ron grinned, taking his dessert and shovelling half of it into his mouth. Harry followed suit, albeit more daintily. 

“It’s rich, Ronald. Just chocolate, cream and egg yolks. That means you can’t have too much or you’ll feel ill.”

“I don’t know if you’ve met Ron before tonight,” Harry interjected, grinning widely, “but there is no food on earth that he cannot put away in large amounts.”

“That’s right. Thanks, man.” Ron slapped Harry on the back, making his glasses pop straight off his head and fall onto the carpet. 

“I really missed this.” Hermione remarked, smiling. “I missed spending time with you both.”

“Hey, speaking of spending time,” Ron put down his scraped-empty dessert pot, “I wanted to let you know, before the Daily Prophet gets ahold of the news, that I’ve been seeing someone.”

“Who?!”

Ron smiled, shyly. “Isobel MacDougal.”

“Our year? From Ravenclaw?”

“Yeah. We met at the Ministry about two months ago and she’s really nice.”

Hermione smiled, warmly. “I’m really happy for you, Ron.”

Harry cleared his throat and his friends looked at him. He stood, wiping his palms on his jeans.

“I’ve got news, too.” 

“Go on, mate.”

Harry turned to face them.

“I’m going to ask Ginny to marry me.”

“WHAT!”

“WHEN?”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”

“CONGRATULATIONS!”

Hermione and Ron stood up to circle Harry, hugging and congratulating him.

“Mate, that’s fantastic. We’ll be brothers for real, now!”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so happy for you both!”

Ron pulled back from the group hug. “Wait, hold on a minute. Did Mum and Dad give permission?’’

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I asked them last night.”

“When did you decide to ask her?” Hermione inquired, tears in her eyes.

“Uh, sixth-year?” Harry grinned. Ron elbowed him and he held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I decided at the beginning of this year that I wanted to ask her on her birthday, so I had to start planning everything early before it rushes up to meet me suddenly and I screw everything up.”

“Have you got a ring?” Hermione was already thinking about what sort of ring Ginny would like. Probably something small so she could wear her Quidditch glove over it. To her relief, Harry shook his head. 

“About that, Hermione, I really need your help. I tried to look at some in Diagon Alley but the saleswitch was getting so inquisitive. I don’t want Rita Skeeter publishing an article that I’m ring shopping before I even ask Ginny. Would you help me pick one?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. Maybe we could go to a Muggle jewellery store.”

“Hey,” Ron interrupted, poking Harry’s arm, “am I gonna be the best man?”

“Who else would be my best man, Ron?”

“Fair point.”

— — — 

Hermione hugged her best friends tightly and handed them both containers full of leftovers. She waved them goodnight and watched as they disappeared through the fireplace. Turning, she glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes. 

She magicked away the messy dishes and got her flat in order. She brushed her curls out and threw on a black sweater she had bought last week in the neighbouring village. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she breathed out a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous, Hermione.” She told herself. “He’s just coming over to watch a movie, like basically every other night. Nothing has changed. Just because you woke up drooling on his chest this morning doesn’t mean it’s different now. We are fine. Totally, completely fine. You are going to be nice, and not weird. You’re going to keep a safe space between yourself and Draco on the sofa, and you will not bring out tequila or any other hard liquor. Get it together, Granger.”

By the time she had given herself several pep-talks in the mirror, she heard the click of Apparation and walked into the main room to find Draco kneeling by the television, messing about with the controls on the DVD player. 

“What are you doing?”

“I got a DVD!” He held up a DVD case with pride and Hermione smiled in amusement. 

“Where did you even get it?”

“I went to the DVD shop today, two villages over. Blockbuster, that’s the name. That girl in the tea shop helped me. It was nice of her.”

The air left Hermione’s lungs. _The girl in the tea store, who had a massive crush on Draco._

“I’m sorry, _who_ helped you?” She didn’t mean for the question to come out so sharply, but it did, and she hated the panic that gripped her heart.

“You know, the girl in th—,” Draco swivelled on his kneecaps to face her, trailing off as he saw the look on her face. “I just asked her if she knew where to get movies from and she gave me directions. She drew me a map.”

Hermione started breathing again, cautiously. 

“Oh, right. That’s nice. What DVD did you get?” 

Draco pushed the disc into the player and got up, an incredulous look on his face.

“Are you,” he came to stand in front of Hermione, “ _jealous_?”

Hermione scoffed.

“Of who? The girl at the tea shop?” She crossed her arms protectively around herself. “Not likely. Why would I be jealous of her?” He was standing so close that she had to tilt her head to look at him. He smirked. 

“What, am I making you uncomfortable?” _No, come closer._

“Stop it.” Hermione made to lightly push Draco away from her when he grabbed onto her wrists and yanked her even closer to him. She swallowed the nerves in the back of her throat and tried to muster up a glare, failing when she took notice of the little flecks of light in his grey eyes. 

“Hermione.” He was barely audible, even at this proximity. She tried not to look at his mouth.

“I wasn’t jealous.” She murmured, her voice sounding weak. She knew it was a lie. _He_ knew it was a lie. 

The fireplace flared up and they both turned to see Ron standing in front of them, Hermione’s Tupperware in his hands and his face turning purple with anger.

“What the _actual fuck_ is going on here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama!


	9. I Want You, You Jerk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends!
> 
> I’ve gotten a lot of comments telling me that you guys are happy that I post every day and that it’s nice you don’t have to wait for ages for updates - I never thought about my daily chapters like that, my decision to post daily was really to hold myself accountable and write often so I got into the habit. 
> 
> I love to write but I’m quite lazy, and I sometimes write terribly, so this has been like an exercise for my brain. I’m so happy you all are enjoying this story, it’s very strange to know that people in different parts of the world are excited to read the next instalment.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for always being so kind and supportive to me. 
> 
> Lots of love, enjoy chapter 9!

Ron carefully lowered the container to the ground, not once breaking eye contact with Draco. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket and trained it on him. Hermione reacted before thinking, throwing herself between the two men, her arms stretched wide. 

“No, Ron. No! Stop. Lower your wand.”

“Hermione, step to the side, please.” Ron’s voice was calm. “You’ve got a nasty little infestation on your carpet and I’d love to get rid of it.”

Hermione had backed up until her body was flush with Draco’s and he put his hands on her waist. It was a nice sensation for a second. Then, she realised that he was trying to pull her away from Ron’s line of fire and behind himself, so she wriggled herself free, stepping forward.

“Ron.”

“Hermione, get out of the way.”

“RON!” She lost her patience. “WAND DOWN NOW.” Her voice rang out with such ferocity that Draco let out a low whistle behind her. Ron looked uncertain, before lowering his wand, pointing it toward the floor. _Good_ , she thought. _He still knows not to mess with me._

“I don’t understand.” 

“And that’s perfectly understandable,” Hermione’s anger cooled instantly and she stepped closer to him, holding out her hand. She reached and, _thank Merlin_ , was able to pull the wand from Ron’s hand, throwing it across the room onto the sofa. 

“Listen to me. Ron, no, don’t look at him. Look at me. Draco Malfoy is my friend. We met in this village because he lives here too, and in the past few months, we’ve become very close.”

“Very close.” Ron’s expression soured. "You mean, you’re screwing him.”

Before Hermione could tell him off for using bad language, Draco had stepped around her, fury blinding his features.

“Don’t disrespect her like that.” He poked a finger at Ron before looking at Hermione. “Apologise. Now.”

“ _Disrespect_? Are you serious? What is it that you call her, again? That word you kept saying over and over in school? You’re telling me that _I_ disrespected her?”

“Things are different now. She and I know where we stand.”

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione poked her head around Draco’s side and nodded, “things are different! He’s different!”

“Hermione, this is a load of—,”

“Draco isn’t a bad person, Ron.”

“His aunt tortured you! His whole family is sick!”

“His aunt tortured me. She tortured me.” Hermione pointed at herself. “She did the torturing, not him. You get that, right? _I_ was the one who was tortured. _I_ get to decide if I forgive him. I forgave him a long time ago.”

“People like him don’t change.”

“Ron, that’s ridiculous, you forgave Theo Nott and his father was a Death Eater! You’re friends with him! You go for drinks on Friday nights!”

“Theo didn’t bully you for years. Theo’s _family_ didn’t torture and maim you in their house!”

“Theo Nott is no different from Draco Malfoy, Ron. They both deserve a second chance.”

“But—,”

“Ron,” Hermione pushed Draco to the side and stepped up to her best friend, “we lost so much. You, me and Harry. We lost our friends, and our childhoods. Harry lost his whole family. We nearly lost our own lives fighting for what we believe in.”

“So?”

“So, Draco lost _his_ friends. _His_ childhood. He lost everything, too. The only thing that makes him different from us is that instead of voluntarily choosing to fight for his beliefs, he was forced to fight for Voldemort so that his mother and father wouldn’t be killed. He had no choice.”

Hermione could see Ron’s anger dissipating. He huffed out a breath and nodded. 

“I know.”

“You have such a big heart, Ron,” she squeezed his arm, “and I love you _so_ much, but you need to take a minute and remember that people suffer on _all_ sides of a war. You can’t hold onto the hate you felt, because hate is what caused all of this. The war. The deaths. The injuries. We have buried so many people, Ron. Please don’t start something new.”

Hermione knew Ron understood. He was the same kind, funny person he’d always been, and he was inherently good. He gave her a small, apologetic smile. She sighed in relief and stepped back from him, shooting a glance at Draco. He was stone still, staring straight ahead. Ron looked at the floor for a long while, before raising his head and looking between Hermione and Draco.

“Just friends?”

“Yes. Just friends.” Hermione placated. She could tell him the truth later. Much, much later.

“Okay. I’m not okay with it yet. I will be, but I need a little while to process.”

“Of course. Take your time, I’ll be here.”

“Yeah. I know.” He went to get his wand from where it was stuck between two couch cushions. “I’m going to go.”

“Sure.” A thought struck Hermione. “Hey, why did you bring the box back?”

“Isobel told me to empty the food into another container and return yours back to you before I forgot and kept it by accident. She cleaned it and told me to say thanks on her behalf. She won’t have to cook dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh, right. Tell her I said hello.”

“So, I’ll go now.” He looked warily at Draco. “If you do anything to hurt her, and I mean _anything_ , I’ll be the one to take you straight to Azkaban.”

Draco gave him a tight nod, his expression grim.

“Goodnight, Ron.”

“‘Night, Hermione. Malfoy.”

He stepped into the fireplace and was gone. Draco started to move towards the door.

“I’ll go, then.”

Hermione caught his arm, holding him steady.

“Why? It’s movie night.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to take up your time, _friend_.” Draco almost snarled the last word and Hermione started to panic. 

“You don’t think I—,”

“Well, you had no issue telling _him_ that we’re just friends.” 

“Ron? Well, of course I had to say tha—,”

“And you had no trouble telling him how much you bloody _loved_ him.” He smiled, mirthlessly.

“Draco, stop it!”

“I’m going.” He made to step to the side, and a rush of anger surged through Hermione’s veins. She mustered all of her strength, kicked his knee so it buckled, and tackled him to the ground. Nose to nose with him, her hands pinning his wrists to the floor, she glared. 

“Don’t you _dare_ try to walk out on me, you complete arse.” She was panting loudly, not having tackled anyone in a very long time. “Do you think you’d be here every damn night if we were just friends? Do you think I’d go to your house for dinner to meet your mother if we were _just friends_?”

“Well—,” Draco was lying underneath her passively, his hands on her waist and a small smile on his mouth. She ignored it. 

“No, shut up. You and Ron, you’re a real pair of jerks, you know? Who gave you two the right to act like such complete tossers? I’m not a piece of meat! I’m the brightest witch of my age, damn it, so I think I can live my life the way I bloody well want to! _He_ thinks he can tell me that I shouldn’t come near you, as if I’m some weak, pathetic person who can’t take care of myself. _You_ think you can tell me that you’re not good enough for me and then try to sulk about something non-existent! You actually have the nerve to act like a sulky fourteen-year-old boy? I cannot _believe_ I was embarrassed about being jealous before, when you’re having a cow over me and my best friend! Grow up! I don’t like him! I don’t want him! I want you, you jerk! Can’t you see that, you irritating, smug, infuriating idiot?! Where do you both get off acting like the boss of me? Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. You. Are. A. _Jerk_. Draco. Malfoy.” She punctuated each word with a sharp jab to his chest. 

“Can I say something, please?”

“Oh,” Hermione leaned back, catching her breath, “yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

“You’re sitting on my lungs.”

Hermione looked down to see that she was, indeed, sitting on Draco’s chest, her thighs clamped against his sides.

“Oh, I’m sor—,”

And then, Draco pulled Hermione down to crush his mouth against hers. It was less a simple kiss and more the culmination of months of tension brought down to one single embrace. She kissed him with the little experience she had from the two times she had been kissed before, hoping that he didn’t think she was terrible. He wrapped his arms around her middle and bit down on her bottom lip, inciting a groan from her. _Maybe he would be a good enough kisser for both of them._ She pulled up just a fraction to mutter,

“Finally,” before she was being kissed once again. 

They stayed locked in a tight embrace, kissing each other with enough passion and hunger that neither was able to break away to breathe for more than a second before going back in for more. Hermione was trying to string a logical thought together but the only coherent thing she could find inside her brain was _Why did I wait this long? He is a really fantastic kisser._ At some point, moments or hours later, she was unsure, there was a faraway whoosh and the fireplace spat out green flames and then, there was Harry’s voice, saying, 

“Hermione! Ron told me what happened, are you oka—oh Godric, oh no, oh no…where’s your Floo powder, oh there it is…I’m going, sorry, I’m going, ugh, that’s disgusting, oh, _Hermione_ …like my sister… that’s just revolti—,” 

And then it was quiet again, save for the sound of the fire crackling and Draco groaning into her mouth. 

— — — 

Hermione stared up at the beams on the ceiling and turned her head to see Draco’s white-blond hair fanned out onto the pillow next to her, his face angelic and untroubled. She scowled. Was he always this picture-perfect? 

At some point last night, they had made it to her bed, where they had proceeded to make out for at least four hours, because she remembered looking at the clock on her nightstand at one point to check if they had set a world record. They hadn’t gotten further than that, mainly because they were both exhausted. Both of them were fully clothed, although Hermione did transfigure their clothing into pyjamas. 

Draco shifted next to her, pulling her closer to him and snuggling himself into her, burying his head into the crook of her neck.

“Hey.” She whispered, her voice still thick with sleep. “Hey, wake up.”

“Shh, go back to sleep. Nighttime.”

“No, it’s 10 am, Draco, we have to wake up.”

“Mmmm, no. Sleep now, too loud.” He pressed his fingers against Hermione’s mouth, softly enough that he didn’t prevent her breathing.

“Mrs Owens will be worried.”

That got him up. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes and squinting to adjust to the light. He turned and stared down at Hermione, who covered herself up with the sheet, even though she was wearing a t-shirt.

“What?” She was suddenly self-conscious. 

“I could really get used to waking up like this.”

“Oh, shush. Go home and get ready for work, I’ll meet you there with breakfast.”

“No, I’ll get it, you just get to the shop and make sure she hasn’t called the police to search for us.” He smiled, his face bright and open, and bent down to kiss Hermione, rolling his body over hers. She pushed him away. 

“No! No, Draco, stop it, we have to go. Get ready, go on.”

He gave up and stood, smirking at her before Disapparating. Hermione fell back to the bed and pumped her fists into the air, victorious.

— — — 

Mrs Owens looked suspicious when Hermione walked into the bookshop, half an hour later. 

“Good sleep?”

“Sorry, Mrs Owens, I was just up _so_ late last night.”

The door opened again and Draco walked in, a large bag of croissants in one hand and three coffees in a holder in the other. 

“What about you, young man? Late night, too?”

“Oh, yes, uh, we— I spent so long reading this fantastic book that—,”

“And I was watching Little Women—”

“Yes, and we weren’t together or anything—,”

“Yes, different houses. I live alone.”

Mrs Owens picked up her coffee and shook her head, looking back down at the newspaper.

“It’s like you think I was born yesterday.”

— — — 

Hermione was reaching up to put the finishing touches on her poetry bookshelf when Draco came up behind her and dropped a kiss to her neck.

“Hey, cut that out! She’ll see!”

“I’m sorry, were you not there this morning when she basically said that she knew what we were up to last night?”

“Yes, but she’s _old_ , Draco. She has different values.”

“If you think young Frederick and Dorothy Owens didn’t get frisky against a bookshelf in this shop, you’re fooling yourself.”

Hermione stayed away from the bookshelves for the rest of the day.

— — — 

The next month was spent peacefully. Hermione finally met Andromeda and started spending time at Draco’s house with his family. She and Harry travelled to Milan for a weekend to visit Muggle jewellery stores and choose a ring for Ginny. Ron came around to accept that Draco was in Hermione’s life, as he had promised, and Hermione decided it would be best not to tell him that she and Draco were definitely not _just_ friends any more. 

Draco would come by in the evenings. They would eat and watch movies, or Hermione would teach him a card game or play him Muggle music, and then some nights, they would fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms. Hermione was happy. She spent her days surrounded by books, and her nights with someone who looked at her like she was the most important person in his world. 

They never went further than they had the first night. Every time Hermione tried to unbutton her jeans or attempted to pull off Draco’s shirt, his hands would still hers and he would say, _we have time for all of that_ , and she would be grateful that he was a gentleman and also quite annoyed about it, too. Ginny was continually disappointed in the lack of updates.

They were lying awake in bed after watching Titanic and having a thorough two-hour debate about whether or not there was enough space on the door for Jack. Hermione had won, Draco conceding defeat after she fought dirty and kissed him to shut him up. 

“Draco?” 

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad I chose this village.”

There was a silence, and then, 

“You didn’t.”

“What?” Hermione lifted her head from his chest and propped herself up on one elbow.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Tell me first.”

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but when you were travelling through the countryside, my mother saw you in a town not far from here. She was there to shop and she caught sight of you through a window. She told me later that she had a quick look through your surface thoughts and realised that you were untethered. Apparently, she came home and got chatting to Mrs Llewellyn, who had told her once that she had plans to clear out the flat above her place. Mother gave her some encouragement and persuaded her that it was a wonderful way to make some extra money. The next day, Mrs Llewellyn had the advert on the town message board.”

Hermione frowned. 

“So, you’re saying that your mother orchestrated the whole thing?”

“Yes.”

“But, how could she be sure that I wouldn’t find a place to rent in another town? There are about seven nearby.”

“She went to all the neighbouring villages and removed any renting notices from their own messenger boards and church halls.”

“Huh.”

“I swear to you that I didn’t know what she was up to until I saw you at the market. Are you upset?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Hermione sank back down to rest her cheek against Draco’s sternum, allowing him to resume playing with her hair. 

“I’m actually quite impressed. She managed to do all that without a wand. It's both incredible and slightly horrifying.”

“I’m pretty sure she made Andromeda use locator spells to find all the homes nearby that were up for rent or sale.”

“You really are a strange family.”

“You’re the one lying in bed with me, so what does that say about you?”

— — —

Hermione stood in Teddy’s nursery, rocking him in her arms. Narcissa and Andromeda had left the baby in Hermione and Draco’s care for the evening as they were heading out to see the ballet in Russia. Teddy had been in a grizzly mood the whole evening and Draco and Hermione were taking turns trying to calm him. Hermione was finally successful.

Draco walked into the nursery, holding two cups of hot chocolate. Hermione was softly singing a lullaby as she placed the baby down into his bed. 

“Granger?”

“Shh, wait.” She cast a _Muffliato_ to protect the baby from their talking. Draco handed her a mug of chocolate. “What?”

“Do you want children?”

Hermione nearly dropped her drink.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want kids one day?” He sat down in the rocking chair and looked at her, pensively. Hermione stared at him, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Yeah, I do.” She was unsure where this was leading. “A couple, maybe.”

“Oh, right.”

She walked over to sit on his lap, leaning back against his chest as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Why, are you offering to help me make some?” 

He poked her in the side and she turned to kiss his jaw.

“I sometimes wonder,” his voice was far away in thought, “if I’ll be a good dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at my family, Hermione. There’s nothing but evil, hate and spite. I hate my father. I worry that my children will hate me.”

Hermione twisted herself so that her legs were slung over the arm of the chair and her side was pressed against Draco’s chest. 

“Are you planning to offer your children in servitude to a lunatic wizard who wants to commit genocide?”

“No.”

“Then, I’m pretty sure your kids will be fine.” _Ours kids_. The thought was fleeting, but it made her smile and she sipped her hot chocolate so he couldn’t see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I’m not very good at writing romantic things (especially sexy time moments) because I always feel that I don’t do it well and it sounds tacky when I try, so I prefer to stick to just sidestepping actual descriptions and insinuating what’s happening. Use your imaginations. I know you’ve got great imaginations. I’m really sorry. I’ll read some Mills & Boon novels and try to do better with my next story.


	10. Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for your sweet comments on yesterday’s post! I’m glad you liked the confrontation with Ron. Or should I say “nonfrontation”. Lol. Bad joke, sorry. 
> 
> This is our halfway mark, so ten more days to go! Or less if I don’t have patience, hahaha. 
> 
> I wanted to write this chapter because the next one will be more serious. I thought I should balance it by having a really fun, chaotic little outing for our resident “engaged” couple. Enjoy!

June arrived and with it came Draco’s birthday. Hermione joined Narcissa and Andromeda in celebrating him at the Black family house. Mrs Owens came, too. Luna was invited and she introduced Rolf Scamander to the group as her boyfriend. Draco acted in a very big brother way towards Luna, glaring at Rolf for most of the afternoon, but he had finally come around after Hermione threatened to hex him for being so rude. 

There was a towering chocolate ganache cake and a pile of presents sitting on the coffee table. Teddy, who had been covered with a charm to hide his morphing from Mrs Owens, spent the day ripping wrapping paper to shreds. Narcissa and Andromeda gifted Draco several expensive presents, one of which was a travelling potions case filled with rare ingredients and several pieces of brewing equipment. Hermione gave Draco a pocket watch that belonged to her grandfather. She had asked for it from her father. He was so delighted at the prospect of passing down an heirloom to Draco, whom he held in the highest regard, that he sent it the very next day in a first-class courier parcel. Delighted, Draco transfigured his t-shirt into a button-down with a pocket so that he put wear the watch immediately. Mrs Owens presented him with a painting. 

“Mrs Owens, where did you get this?” He looked up from the beautiful painting with a shocked expression, Hermione mirroring him. The old lady smiled. 

“I used to paint when I was younger. It was my greatest passion, but I haven’t picked up a brush in many years. I thought I would try my hand again and see if I could still do as well as I used to.”

“Mrs Owens,” Hermione breathed, dancing her fingers over the delicate paintwork, “it’s so beautiful.”

The painting was about the size of a regular piece of paper, and depicted the view out of a _particular_ window, showing the backs of two young people sitting on a grassy lawn, overlooking a thin river. The curly-haired girl was leaning her head on the blonde boy’s shoulder and he had his arm slung around her waist. 

“I think I captured the two of you quite truthfully, don’t you?”

Draco passed the painting around for everyone to admire, before kissing Mrs Owens on the forehead and giving her a hug. 

“I’ll never forget this. It’s wonderful. I’ll put it up today.” He spoke with vehemence.

Hermione sniffed, tears falling down her face, unbridled. Draco and Luna turned to look at her. 

“Um,” she mumbled, embarrassed at her display of emotion, “I’m just going to go get everyone more cake.”

— — — 

The month passed just like the one before it and before she knew it, Hermione was addressing a letter to her parents dated to the 15th of July. She had planned a beach day out with Draco at Brighton shore and he was due to arrive in five minutes. Suddenly, there were two louds cracks and Harry and Ginny were standing in front of her television, dressing in shorts and sandals. Harry had a beach bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Ready?”

“What are you doing here?” Hermione put down her pen, standing. Ginny walked to the sofa, where Hermione’s beach bag was sitting, and picked it up. 

“Come on, let’s go.” She nodded at Harry, who grabbed onto both girls arms and they were all gone, within a second. 

Landing on soft sand, Hermione gasped. She hated side-along Apparition and stumbled. Ginny steadied her and Hermione squinted in the bright light. Adjusting to the view, she realised that she was not on Brighton beach, but most likely on a Mediterranean beach.

“Welcome to Greece!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his bag down into the sand. Ginny nudged Hermione to look to her right, where she saw a very shirtless Draco walking towards them, dressed in swimming trunks, carrying a bottle of wine in each hand. Luna was dancing along behind him, wearing a heavily sequinned swimsuit and matching hat, two more bottles in her grasp. 

“What is going on?” Hermione reached up to kiss Draco, who pressed the icy bottles into the Hermione’s stomach. She squealed and slapped him away, before turning to greet Luna. 

“Hi, Hermione.” The younger girl leaned in, conspiratorially. “Doesn’t Draco plan wonderful outings? It’s a good beach. No Wrackspurts.” She winked. “I’ve checked.” 

Hermione hugged her, grateful that Draco had invited her friends to spend the day with them. She’d thank him later.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Luna!” Ginny hugged Luna so hard that she lifted the girl off her feet. Harry dropped a kiss to Luna’s cheek and patted her wet hair.

Hermione looked down to see several towels and a few umbrellas for shade lying on the powdery white sand.

“Why not England?” She asked, and Harry snorted. 

“I’m sorry, are you complaining about the stunning private Greek island?”

“No!” Hermione sat on a towel and pulled her hair into a bun. “I‘m just surprised.”

Draco handed her a glass of wine.

“We’ve got the whole beach to ourselves. No-one can get here because there’s a rocky patch of water that can’t take boats.”

“So,” Ginny held out her glass and Draco poured her a drink, “we can spend the whole day here. Which we will be doing, because I bloody deserve it. My Quidditch coach has been driving me up the bend, so I’m ready to relax.”

Luna was further away, running through the edge of the water. 

“Oi, Luna!” Harry yelled. “Where’s Rolf?”

“Oh, well, he’s visiting with his grandparents you see, Harry,” she said, not breaking her stride as she did a cartwheel, “and I didn’t want Draco to be sulky for the whole day so I thought it best not to invite him.”

Hermione nearly choked on her wine from laughing. Draco scowled.

The day was slow and warm, and the laughter and sunshine did everyone good. At some point, Draco and Harry were drunk enough that they decided to have a footrace around the small island. While Luna refereed, Ginny and Hermione went to sit in the shallow water and talk.

“So, you’re happy.”

Hermione smiled, picking up shells, absentmindedly. “Yes, I am. I feel like everything is right with the world.”

“I’m glad. Harry and I both noticed it, when you and Draco came around for dinner last month.”

“Wasn’t it weird to see them chatting about Quidditch like they didn’t hate each other all through school.”

“What’s weirder is that Draco Malfoy is your boyfriend, Hermione. It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but of all the strange things to happen, this is certainly the most bizarre.”

“You’re right. It is pretty strange. Bu it has been really good. He’s wonderful.” Hermione looked to where the boys where lining up to race. She bit her lip.

“What is it?”

“Just…when he sleeps over - not like _that,_ Ginny, stop waggling your eyebrows at me - he sometimes gets nightmares about the war. He never remembers what he’s said when he wakes up but I think he’s really quite haunted by the trauma. Does it sound like something I should worry about?”

Ginny shook her head, letting her palms float in the water. 

“No, don’t. It’s the same for Harry. He gets so panicky and frightened in his sleep and then when I wake him up, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I think they need to work through it. The war, the deaths. They just need time.”

“Do you think Luna gets nightmares? I worry about her a lot. I can never tell what’s going on in her mind.”

Ginny pulled her knees up to her chest and twisted to see Luna shouting encouragement at the boys as they tore across the sand. 

“I think she’s probably the strongest person we know. Went through most of her life without a friend in the world and still made it out of the war. She’s brave.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I think we’re very lucky to have found each other. All of us.” She placed her hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

“Me, too. We should do this sort of thing more often.”

“Absolutely. I’m really happy we’re here.”

Ginny kissed Hermione’s cheek and gave her a one-armed hug. There was a shout and the girls turned to watch Harry tackle Draco to the ground to keep him from winning the race. Luna proceeded to jump on top of them, shouting with glee. Ginny rolled her eyes and stood, holding out her hand to help Hermione up.

“Alright, I’m starving. Do you think anyone remembered food or will we have to get the boys to catch some fish?”

— — — 

After a meal of bread, cheese, fruit and more wine, the small group spent the rest of the afternoon on the island, enjoying each other’s company and getting progressively drunker and drunker. By the time the sun was setting, Ginny had been buried up to her neck in the sand by her friends. Hermione was swigging wine from the bottle and singing pirate songs, Draco was trying to start a bonfire with his mind and Harry was lying on his back and murmuring nonsense. 

“Luna?” Hermione called, watching the girl paddle far out in the ocean. “Luna! Come back to shore, you shouldn’t swim in the dark! Come back!”

Luna’s bight head bobbed up and down in the water before she turned back to the island. 

“Oi! Someone get me up!” Ginny yelled, suddenly. “Something is _biting_ me!”

Draco hoisted her out of the sand, falling over in the process. Harry stood and stumbled over, grabbing the bottle from Hermione, who put Draco out of his misery by waving her wand and starting up the fire.

“Hermionethissisreallyshitwine.” Harry slurred, taking a large drink of it. “Malfoysaysit’syourfavouritebutit’sreallyshit. It’sjuice. JuiceHermione.”

“It really is.” Draco nodded, his eyes solemn. Hermione laughed at the absurdity of Draco Malfoy agreeing with Harry Potter. Luna came to sit, wringing her hair out and tossing it over her shoulder. 

“I think we should probably go in an hour. The tide is coming up.” Somehow, Luna Lovegood was the most sober person in the group. Hermione nodded. 

An hour later, everyone was considerably more sober than they had been. The group stood and dusted the sand out of their clothes, haphazardly throwing items into beach bags and collecting their empty bottles and plates. Hermione used her wand to make the sand look as untouched as it had when they first arrived.

“Is everyone okay to Apparate? We can do rounds if anyone is too drunk.” 

“No, no, I’m fine to do it.” Ginny said. Harry was definitely too drunk to go by himself and she yanked his hand so he stood next to her. “Luna, stay at our place tonight.”

Everyone said their goodbyes and Hermione took Draco’s hand, Apparating them back to Churchbury, and into Hermione’s sitting room. The sun was just setting in their village and Hermione looked at the beautiful colours outside her window for a brief second before turning back to Draco and kissing him. 

“Thank you for today.”

He pulled her close and brushed her crusty hair from her face.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“It was wonderful.”

Hermione let go of her beach bag and rolled her neck. Draco held her at arms’ length and surveyed her. 

“Why don’t you go have a shower and get all the salt off your body, and I’ll make us some dinner.”

“That sounds quite perfect.” Hermione could almost cry at the thought of a shower. As she was collecting a towel and her clothes, a flutter in her heart started to tell her that something was wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but her magical intuition was making her uneasy. She was barely underneath the spray of the shower for a minute before she had twisted the tap off and pulled on her robe, stumbling out into the kitchen. Draco looked up from the pot of pasta, his eyes wide and his face grim. 

“Mrs Owens.” They both said, rushing for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? If I could Apparate to wherever I wanted, I would definitely spend a fair amount of time on a beautiful Greek island, drinking wine and eating freshly cooked fish. (Hopefully with a boyfriend.)
> 
> Where would you go?
> 
> I hope you liked this little filler chapter. Get ready for tomorrow. It’s gonna be all sorts of dramatic!


	11. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter up! 
> 
> I finally changed my tumblr so it’s now “nztina”. Find me there!
> 
> I decided, on a whim, to sign up for an eight-week salsa dancing course - I’ve only ever done a little of ballroom before so I’m nervous. First lesson is tonight! Wish me luck and cross your fingers that a cute guy is dancing with me. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! ❤️❤️❤️

Hermione threw the bookshop door open and saw Mrs Owens slumped against her desk. She looked like she was sleeping, and Hermione’s heart jumped. Draco ran past her and crouched by Mrs Owens’ still body, feeling for her pulse.

“Granger, she’s alive. She’s alive, I can feel her heartbeat!” Draco carefully lifted the old woman out of the chair like she weighed nothing and gently laid her down on the rug. Hermione sat as he did so, letting him place Mrs Owen’s head in her lap. She stroked the old lady’s soft grey curls and tried not to cry.

“What can we do?” She asked, panic setting in. She didn’t even have her wand with her. “The doctor lives in the next village and we can’t Apparate him here!”

“Can we Apparate _her_?”

“No! She’s in no state to even go there in a car. She's had a stroke or something. We have to think of an alternative.”

“Do you have any potions at your place?”

“Not ones for Muggles.” Hermione chewed her lip. “I don’t want to give her something that will make her worse.”

“Wait! Andromeda might know how to help. Mother told me that she took care of a lot of injured Muggles during the war. I’ll be back.” Draco stood and Apparated away from the room. 

“Please wake up. _Please_ , Mrs Owens, I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you, Draco cares for you as much as I do.” Hermione brushed her fingers along Mrs Owens’ papery-soft cheek, relief flooding her as the lady made a little noise. Then, Draco and Andromeda were standing there, the former crouching to check on Mrs Owens, the latter rummaging through a small pouch in her hands.

“Hermione, sweetheart, how is her temperature? Is she warm?”

“No. Regular.”

“No blood? She didn't hit her head or anything?”

“None. She must have collapsed at her desk.”

“Okay, let’s give her this. It’s just an energy potion, nothing too strong but it should get her up.”

Draco helped Hermione to lift Mrs Owens’ head as Andromeda dripped the contents of the tiny vial into the old lady’s mouth. They all waited for a sign of life, and then, Mrs Owens was blinking up at them.

“This isn’t a very attractive angle for either of you, I must say.”

Draco bowed his head in relief against Mrs Owens’ shoulder and tears dripped from Hermione’s face onto the old lady’s forehead. Andromeda gave her another vial of something. 

“This will make you feel a bit stronger. Drink it all.”

— — — 

After Andromeda had checked out all of her vital signs, Mrs Owens let Draco carry her fireman style up the stairs to her apartment, Hermione scurrying behind them with her walking stick and purse. Andromeda went back to the Black family house to find her Healer bag.

Inside the small apartment, Hermione set to work making sugary tea and toast with lots of butter, and Draco helped Mrs Owens into her bed, carefully propping her up against the pillows.

“Have something to eat.” Hermione brought the tray in.

“You two are making a big fuss over nothing.” Mrs Owens said, but took a piece of toast anyway. Draco waited until she had eaten two pieces before turning to Hermione. She was still in her bathrobe and slippers, and he kissed her head. 

“Why don’t you go home and have a rest? You must be tired from today.”

She shook her head.

“Not without you. We can stay.”

“No, neither of you are staying.” Andromeda said, from the living room. Hermione and Draco came out to meet her. She was now holding a large case in her hand. “I knew my Healer bag would be in my room, somewhere. Ted always had these awful nosebleeds and he fainted quite a bit, so I’ve had some practice with dosages for non-Magical bodies. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some things in here that are suitable for Muggle consumption.” She tossed Draco and Hermione a vial each. “For your hangovers tomorrow morning. I could smell the alcohol on you a mile away.”

They took the potions. 

“Are you certain we can’t keep you company?” Hermione was sure they could take turns, at least.

“You need sleep. Both of you, I can see that you’re exhausted. I’ll keep an eye on her and I will call you if I need any help.” 

“Won’t you be tired?” Draco asked. Andromeda gave him a wry smile.

“I have a grandson who keeps me up _most_ nights. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, that’s a good point.”

Before they left, while Andromeda was settling Mrs Owens for the night, Hermione took a spin around the living room, followed closely by Draco. 

“Oh, it’s a picture of Mrs Owens when she was young!” Hermione crouched by the portrait which sat on a side table. “She had brown hair! I was always too nervous to ask her what colour it was before it turned grey. And look, she still wears the same necklace.”

“Granger, come here. She’s got more of her paintings on this wall.” Draco pointed at a set of three oil paintings that hung above an upright piano. The first was of the church, with two tiny figures standing at the doorway, the second was an exact replica of the bookshop and the little apartment above it, and the third was a man’s face. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?"

“Frederick Owens.” Draco murmured, standing behind Hermione with his hands on her waist. The painting showed a pale face, a strong jaw and dark blue eyes. He had blonde hair and a kind smile that made Hermione feel like smiling back. He almost reminded her of someone she knew.

“He was really handsome.” She leaned back into Draco’s body and he dipped his head to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Look, Granger.” He straightened, pointing to a black-and-white photo on a tall bookshelf. It was a picture of Dorothy and Frederick, standing outside the bookshop and waving at the camera. Dorothy was looking straight into the lens, and Frederick’s hand was also raised, mid-wave, but he was staring at his wife with adoration painted onto his features. They looked just a little older than Hermione and Draco. 

“They really did love each other.” Hermione touched the photograph, her fingertips brushing over their faces. “Look, don’t they seem so happy?”

“I’m looking.”

“Alright, time for you to go and get some sleep, kids.” Andromeda said, walking into the room. “I promise I’ll send a Patronus if anything changes.”

“Thank you for this, Andromeda. I’m so grateful.” Hermione hugged her. Draco nodded.

They bid Mrs Owens goodnight and thanked Draco’s great-aunt before stepping outside and Apparating back to Hermione’s flat. It was nighttime now and the fire wasn’t lit. The apartment was dark and Hermione could barely make out Draco’s form in front of her.

“Shall I heat up the pasta? We can eat.” He started to walk towards the stove, when Hermione stilled him with a hand on his chest. He gripped her elbow and turned to face her.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Firewhisky, then? Or some wine? Water?”

“Draco,” she reached up onto the tips of her toes to place a kiss on his throat, just above his pulse point, “I don’t want food _or_ drink. I just want you.”

“Granger.” His hold on her arms was strong enough to keep her from moving and she stood still, waiting. “I’m not taking advantage of you. You’re upset about Mrs Owens. You’re vulnerable.”

“I’m upset, that’s true, but I’m not vulnerable. I just want to be with you tonight. Will you stay with me?”

“Hermione.” He hissed as her nails scratched parallel trails down his chest.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t be—,”

“Do you not want me?” It had been her unspoken fear and she let it slip out to hang in the dark room. It was followed by his short, humourless laugh.

“Do I not _want_ you? I want _all_ of you. Every moment of every day, I want you.”

“Then have me. _Please_.”

It was enough persuasion for him and he kissed her softly, and then harder. She reached for his hem to pull the shirt from his head and he broke the kiss to tug it off completely. He pulled the tie of her robe free with one movement and pushed the garment off her shoulders. She was totally naked and felt completely safe. He picked her up, and her legs locked around his waist as he carried her through to her room, lying her down on the bed. He bent over her, cautious. 

“I don’t want you to regret anything. I’m not—, and I know you’ve never…” He trailed off and the insinuation was unspoken but loud enough to hear.

It was the darkness; the safe comfort wrapped around her that made her say, with honesty, “I regret every minute that we’re not together. I’ve waited long enough. I want this.” She reached her hands up to his face, cupping his jaw and stroking her thumbs along his sharp cheekbones. “I want you, Draco.”

He closed the gap and kissed her again, and then more, until he was pressing down into her and she was crying out beneath him, and everything was perfect.

— — — 

“Can we do that every night?” Hermione asked. Draco’s cheek was resting on her stomach, his hand running up and down her collarbone. 

“You will be hearing no complaints from me.”

They were lying exactly as they had when they had fallen asleep, exhausted from the day at the beach, Mrs Owens’ health scare and three hours of sex. It was sometime after nine in the morning and Hermione’s bones still ached with fatigue, though she knew she had to face the day.

“Can I ask you something?” She was hesitant but her curiosity made her speak. Draco nodded. 

“Go ahead.”

“When did you— that is, when was it that you felt something—,”

“When did I start liking you?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his head so that his chin was buried in her stomach and looked up to her eyes. 

“I thought you were pretty since the first day I saw you, which was obviously a big no-no, but I liked you, truly, when we were sixteen. Sixth-year.”

“Our chats?”

“You remember?”

“How could I forget? You kept hanging around the empty corridors, like a forlorn ghost, and scaring me half to death whenever I did patrols.”

“I never thanked you, by the way.”

“For?”

“Letting me talk to you that year. It was,” his eyes shut as he thought of the memories, “a difficult time for me. For my family.”

For about four months in sixth-year, late at night, Hermione would sit next to Draco in an alcove that came off a quiet passageway, and they would talk. Nothing of note, nothing more than stories about their lives and their families. Draco didn’t once address her by rude names or treat her badly - in fact, he had been kind to her, listening to her tell him about Muggle inventions and books that he might like. In turn, she had listened as he told her about his old dream to be a professional Quidditch player and the chocolate cake his mother would make for his birthday. It had been their secret, and no-one knew about it, even now. 

“Well, you didn’t give me much choice. You were so sad and haunted, and you know by now that I can’t leave a person like that without trying to help them. I liked talking to you.” She said it simply, without any shyness. _How could she be shy, when they were both lying there, naked?_ “Anyway, I think _I’m_ the one who should be thanking you.”

“How do you come to that conclusion?”

“You didn’t try to kill me once during our chats.”

He laughed and the sound vibrated through Hermione’s body. She pushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t try to help you. There were so many warning signs and none of us took notice of them.”

“I was fighting for the wrong side, Granger. Let’s not try and excuse my behaviour.”

“I’m not. But I think you’ve changed.”

“I keep thinking about what our younger selves would think if they saw this little scene.”

“The good thing is that they get to stay in the past and we get to live here in our future.”

“You’re very wise. I just can’t believe we’re here. We’re finally here.”

Hermione made a small indignant noise. “Hey! You’re the one who kept trying to avoid sleeping with me!”

Draco kissed her skin. “I don’t mean sex, Granger, and I wasn’t _avoiding_ it. I mean, you and me. We’re past everything. We’re here. Together. ”

Hermione understood. All of the anger and pain of their past was washed clean. She bopped his nose. 

“Are you hungry?”

“What?” Draco’s breath tickled her.

“We haven’t eaten since lunch at the beach. That was nearly twenty-four hours ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice. I was busy.” He pushed himself up on his elbows to drop a kiss to her throat and then lower and lower until he reached the soft skin above her sacrum. Hermione tugged on his hair.

“Draco, we really should go and see Mrs Owens. Your aunt will be exhausted.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Mmmmm…maybe fifteen.”

— — — 

Andromeda was asleep in the armchair she had pushed next to Mrs Owens’ bed. Mrs Owens was sitting up and knitting, the picture of good health. Hermione woke up Draco’s aunt while Draco made tea. 

Andromeda beckoned Hermione to follow her into the kitchen.

“I think you saved her when you realised something was wrong. She wasn’t doing well last night. If you hadn’t brought me here, I don’t believe she would have survived the stroke.” At this, a tear fell from Hermione’s eye. “I gave her small doses of medicine, enough for a Muggle’s body to take, and she responded well. However, I fear that this may just be old age setting in.”

Hermione’s heart sank.

“Is there anything we can do to speed up her recovery?”

“Don’t let her exert herself. I have suggested to her that she let you take care of the shop while she stays on bed rest for a few weeks. Just until she gets her energy back. 

“We can do that.”

Hermione placed her hand in Draco’s and nodded. Things were uncertain and she was beyond worried for her dear friend, but if Draco was by her side, she knew she could face anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	12. As You Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Salsa class was so good! I had a really nice time and danced with a bunch of different people. I held hands with more men than I've ever done in my whole life. Some were dry, some were sweaty. Some of them held my hands so tightly that they dug my rings into my skin and nearly broke my bones. This is all very boring for you, I'm sure. 
> 
> There were some really handsome guys. They were definitely Viktor Krums though...if you get my drift. 
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 12!

Ron walked into Hermione’s sitting room from the fireplace, holding a small, neatly wrapped box. He looked a little wary as he handed it to her.

“Isobel tried to make shortbread. _Tried_ is the key word, and shortbread is a really loose description, but she insisted on me bringing you some.”

Hermione took the proffered box graciously. 

“I’m sure they’ll be lovely.”

Ron sighed and shook his head.

“Seriously, just throw them out. It’s like a punishment to eat them. I bet we could sell them into the torture department at Azkaban.”

Hermione stifled a laugh and offered him a seat. It was impolite to make fun of Isobel’s cooking when she wasn’t there to defend herself. Glancing at the clock, Hermione poured Ron a cup of tea. Draco would be here in ten minutes. 

“What brings you to Churchbury, anyway?” She added milk and sugar, just as he liked it. “ _And_ why did you ask for both of us to be here?”

Ron looked embarrassed as he took the cup.

“Look, I know that I was an idiot that night. I had no right to talk down to you, _and_ to him, and I really should know better. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, Hermione. I shouldn’t question your judgement. It’s saved me on numerous occasions.”

“Thanks, Ron.” She meant it. 

“And it was unfair of me to accuse him of being evil, and all that, when I know that he’s changed. He even saved Fred during the battle, did you know? Fred told me about it. Selwyn was going crazy, flinging curses all around. Fred nearly got hit but Malfoy pushed him out of the way and took Selwyn down.”

“I didn’t know. He never told me.” Hermione hid a proud smile.

“ _And_ …” Ron tilted his head, smiling knowingly, “I know about you and Malfoy. You know, about how you’re dating.”

“Oh?” Hermione wondered whether Harry or Ginny had spilt the beans. 

“Neville saw you here last week.”

This was news.

“Neville?! Why was he here?” 

“His grandmother was looking to buy a house in the country and he came up with her. They must have been passing through Churchbury on their real estate hunt. I guess he saw you with Malfoy, freaked out and came back to London to tell me that you’d been brainwashed.”

Hermione nodded. Neville was very loyal and she made a mental note to ask him over to explain the situation before he went mad from panic and worry.

“Where did he see us?”

“From what I could get out of him, the two of you were walking down the street, holding hands. I’m pretty sure he just Disapparated on the spot and left his Grandmother there.”

“Did you set him straight?”

“Yeah, yeah. He was about to rally Dumbledore’s Army to come and rescue you. I told him you were fine.”

“Were you upset?”

“No. When he told me, it sort of made sense, you know? You were always too smart for me. Malfoy is a good fit for you. I think he’d challenge you, in a good way. You’d challenge each other.”

“And what made you come to that decision?”

Ron shrugged and picked up a lemon cookie from the plate on the coffee table, inspecting it, suspiciously. Hermione assumed that he probably had some sort of trauma from eating Isobel’s baking. 

“I guess it’s because I feel it with Isobel. She and I,” he shoved the biscuit into his mouth, “fit together. We work. You and I never did, huh?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No. I wish it took us less time to figure that out. But I’m really glad about you and Isobel.”

“I spoke to Harry, and he told me that he believes that Malfoy’s changed, too. If both of my best friends, and my sister, believe in him, then I should give him a chance. I’m not ruining our friendship over anything, Hermione. I’m sorry that I very nearly did.”

“Ron, you daft idiot, there is _nothing_ you could possibly do that would ruin our friendship.” Hermione hugged him, relieved. 

Just then, there was a tap on the door. Ron stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

“Time to apologise to Malfoy.” He grinned. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

— — — 

After Ron left, parting on good terms with Draco, the couple prepared for movie night. Draco chose a movie as Hermione sorted out dinner. It was going to be a grilled cheese and tomato soup night, as they had watched Twin Peaks last night and Draco wouldn’t stop going on about it until Hermione finally gave in and promised him that she would make a proper American diner meal. 

“Do you think we should watch a horror movie? The man at the video store told me about them. It’s all blood and gore.”

Hermione stood at the stove, a hand on her hip. 

“Don’t you think we’ve lived through enough horror?”

Draco conceded. 

“Fair point. What’s The Princess Bride about?”

“Oh, that’s a great movie. It has everything. Romance, drama, comedy. Put it on, you’ll like it.”

“As you wish.”

Hermione immediately started laughing hysterically and Draco stared at her, alarmed. 

“What? What is it?”

She pointed a wooden spoon at him and tried to stop chortling. 

“Watch the film and then you’ll understand.”

— — — 

Hermione snuggled against Draco’s body. They were lying on the couch, watching the end of the movie. Draco’s arms were holding her tight against him. 

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Hermione thought aloud. Draco tugged on her curls and gave her a mock-offended look. 

“More than me?”

“Oh, you’re _such_ a vain man, Draco Malfoy.” She pushed herself up to sit, straddling him. 

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Hmm,” she pretended to think, tapping her chin with her finger, “Wand to my throat, I’d have to say that he’s just a tiny bit more handsome than you. A tiny bit.”

“You wound me.” He didn’t look very wounded. 

“Well, then. I’ll have to make it up to you.” She bent down to kiss him.

— — — 

Hermione used her wand to vanish the remaining dust on the floor of the bookshop. Mrs Owens was sleeping, upstairs. Draco opened a box. 

“Oh, look, Granger. Your favourite. More Austen.” He said. She huffed and put down the book of quotes she was reading through.

“I can never escape them. We must have about thirty copies of Pride and Prejudice alone.”

“Leave that for now. I’ll go get us some sandwiches from next door and we can eat them outside.”

Hermione nodded and picked up the blanket that she had brought with her. It was getting a little nippy in the air. 

Ten minutes later, they were sitting out on the grass, the blanket tucked around them as they ate their lunch. 

“I wish this could be for forever.” Hermione stared wistfully at the river. Draco wiped the crumbs from his mouth. 

“What do you mean? This weather?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head and broke a cookie in half. “Just this moment in time. You and me, the bookshop. This town. I wish we could just pause it and live forever like this.”

“I don’t know if that would suit you, Granger.”

“Really? Why not?”

Draco pushed his hair back and leaned over to wipe a smudge of chocolate from Hermione’s lips. 

“You love this place, I know, but I think you have a lot to offer the Wizarding world. Wasn’t your plan to make the Ministry a good place? Less corrupt, more accepting of the wider magical community?”

“How did you know that?”

He gave her a look.

“Who was it handing out puke badges for house-elves?”

Hermione straightened, affronted. 

“ _S.P.E.W_., you arse!”

He grinned. 

“I know. I have one.”

“What?”

“I have one. I took it off a first-year.” Draco bit back a smile. Hermione shook her head in astonishment. 

“You never fail to surprise me.”

— — — 

Draco gave Mrs Owens a fresh cup of tea. Hermione was sitting at the end of the bed, reading a book of Yeats’ poetry and nibbling on a biscuit. 

“Granger, your tea. No, hold it properly, or you’ll spill it.” He handed her a mug of her own, before sitting back down in the armchair. Mrs Owens cleared her throat, looking rather regal in her housecoat.

“Now that you children are here, I wanted to say something.”

Hermione gave Draco a very excited look. _Maybe she would finally tell them her story._

“You’ve both been so attentive to me. Always here, never letting me do anything strenuous. I wanted to say,” she stopped to sip her tea, “that enough is enough. Let me out of bed!”

Hermione’s heart sank. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Mrs Owens, you’re not allowed—,” he began.

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware. I’m on bed rest. I have to relax. I’m too old to do anything, and so on. I’ve lived through a war, son. Some pathetic little stroke isn’t going to kill me.”

“You need to listen to the doctors!” Hermione threw her book down onto the bed. “You kept pushing yourself and that’s why you had the stroke in the first place. I told you not to lift boxes or try to reach high shelves but you didn’t listen. We’re not going to let you wear yourself out again.”

Mrs Owens groaned like a sulky teenager.

“And anyway, there’s nothing to do. We’re just finishing up with the shop and then you can come down to sit at your desk once it’s all nice and clean.”

“And work.”

“No!” Both Draco and Hermione shouted at the same time.

“You’re worse than my bloody parents.” Mrs Owens huffed.

Hermione turned to give Draco an exasperated look and was surprised to find him already staring at her, his face grim. 

— — — 

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“You seemed quiet today. Are you feeling alright?” Hermione asked. She was lying on the bed, her head resting over Draco’s heart. She felt his heartbeat return to normal as they rested. The sweat cooling on her body made her shiver and he pulled the sheet up to cover her shoulders. 

“I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“You can tell me, you know.” She ran her hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscles there rippling against her fingertips.

“Nothing, Granger. Go to sleep.” He drew circles across her back.

“I know you. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you. I’m really just thinking.”

She pushed herself up to lean over him, scowling into his face. 

“Can I help you?” He raised an eyebrow, his arms coming to hold her waist.

“Let me look at you.”

“Okay.” He tilted his chin up to kiss her, but she evaded him.

“No, let me _look_ at you. I want to see your face.”

He went still, letting her travel her eyes over his features for a long moment. Finally, her expression disappointed, she returned to her previous position, lowering her head back to his chest. 

“Something’s wrong with you. You’re just not telling me.”

“Granger, I’m fine. I’m just tired."

“You don’t look tired.”

He suddenly rolled her over until he was pinning her down to the mattress. She looked up at him, defiantly, and he smirked.

“Then maybe you should _make_ me tired.”

She thought on it for a few seconds.

“I can do that.”

He closed the gap and kissed her.

— — — 

Hermione turned to see Draco was already dozing off, his chest rising and falling steadily. She shuffled closer, careful not to wake him up, and then bent her head to brush her lips against his cheek, whispering,

“I love you.” 

— — — 

Hermione woke to find sunlight shining directly onto her face. She squinted, reaching for her wand to close the curtains. Instead, her fingers brushed against a piece of stiff paper and she looked to see an envelope addressed to her sitting on her bedside table. Twisting, she realised that Draco was not lying next to her, fast asleep as usual. A glacial flood of panic cascaded through her body. 

He was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Were you expecting that? What do you think? 
> 
> I bet you kind of hate me for the cliff-hanger, huh? The good news is that you don't have to wait too long for the next chapter!
> 
> Let me know what you think is happening, or where you think Draco is. I love your theories and I can't wait to read them!


	13. Dear Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!!!!! You get chapter 13 early today! 
> 
> This is another style of chapter and I’m a bit uncertain about it but it’s written so whatever. 
> 
> We always get to see Hermione's POV but this one is all Draco. It's a bit emotional. He's got the emotions. It's very dramatic, but we always knew he was a big drama queen, right? 
> 
> Lucky for you, you get to see his unedited drafts before you read the actual letter he leaves for Hermione. I wonder if you will see any clues in it. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

~~Dear Granger,~~

~~I’m sorry, I have to go. Please~~

— — — 

~~Hermione,~~

~~I know this is cowardly, but I thought it would be best if I left without facing you because I don’t want you to~~

— — — 

~~To Granger,~~

~~The first time I met you was on the Hogwarts Express when we were eleven years old. I was very nervous to be attending school, because I was a pampered brat, as you would put it. I was homesick as soon as I stepped into the compartment. Mother had cried for most of the previous day. You walked past and knocked on the door to say hello, and I asked you what your name was. You ignored my question, and asked me if I had seen Longbottom’s toad. I thought you were pretty, but you already know that. Then, you got sorted into Gryffindor and I found out you were a Muggle-born witch, and that was the end of it.~~

~~It really didn’t matter that I thought you were pretty until the Yule Ball in fourth-year, because suddenly everyone thought you were pretty. I hated it. I spent most of the night sulking and Pansy really got quite pissed off at me. I told Blaise that a beautiful girl from Beauxbatons had turned me down so he wouldn’t get suspicious. You were really something else. That summer, when I went home, I burned my poster of Viktor Krum in the fireplace.~~

~~When we were in sixth-year, I used to sleep with Pansy. She wasn’t terrible or anything, but I wasn’t thinking of her. It was unkind of me, but I was looking for a distraction and she was quite desperate, so it was mutually beneficial. She wouldn't ever tell you this, and if she knew I was telling you now, she’d Avada me, but once, I called her by your name. I hated it. I hated hurting her like that but I wanted it to be you, not her. When you wanted me to have sex with you, I was terrified. I was avoiding it, you were right, but not for lack of wanting you. It was because I felt unworthy to be with you. How could I be your first, the only person to see you like that and touch you like that, when you should have been with someone better? More decent? More deserving?~~

~~When you started to sit with me in sixth-year, those nights that you were on prefect duty, I had to mentally restrain myself from grabbing you and kissing you up against a wall. It was torture for me, and you made it even worse when you touched my shoulder or held my hand. I hated you for being so close and so unreachable at the same time. How could I dare to feel anything for you, when you were the perfect Gryffindor princess and I was a Death Eater?~~

~~Do you know how grateful I am for the time you spent with me? You could have been doing anything, but you sat with me during those awful, lonely nights. You listened to my stupid stories. You told me about the books you read at home. I never told you this but, after the war ended and I was released, I read all of them. Mother thought I would drive myself mad reading so many books but I did read them, and I loved them. I thought of you. Every page was a reminder of you. Of your smile, of your hair, of your goodness.~~

~~I feel like a lunatic writing this. I hate running away. It hurts like physical pain. I’m watching you sleep and I want to kiss you, and make love to you one last time, but we can’t go further with this. I won’t let you do this to yourself, I won’t let you ruin your life.~~

~~Maybe if we met in another life~~

— — — 

~~Hermione,~~

~~In the years that I have known you, it has become painfully clear to me that you are willing to put yourself last in all matters. I have seen you sacrifice your freedom, your childhood and your happiness for the sake of your friends and family, and I will not be the next person to ask you to give up something.~~

~~You have become important to me. I always had feelings for you, but they were nothing in comparison to how I feel about you now. You are my morning and my evening, and I love~~

— — — 

~~Dear Granger,~~

~~I have dreams about our future. A future that will never be. In my dreams, we are married and we have three children. Two girls, and a baby boy. I don’t know their names, but Mother would probably insist on them being constellation-based. And you, of course, would have the final say. The oldest would look like me, and the middle one would be a mix of us. The baby would be all you. It hurts my heart to know that they won't exist.~~

~~I imagine we’d have a relatively modest house with a big library, in which you and I would spend our free time, just like we do in the shop. We would have desks that face each other and there would be a large window for us to look out at the kids playing in the back garden. There would be a bookcase devoted to movies. We would have extra rooms for your parents and my mother, and Teddy would spend weekends at our place, if he wasn't bothering Potter at his house. Our kids and Potter's kids are friends in this dream.~~

~~I would have tried to be a good father. I wouldn't have cared if they were in Gryffindor. Or even Hufflepuff. I would've taught them to play Quidditch and never yelled or made them cry. I would never have let them go to sleep angry or scared, and I would put them first. You would be a fantastic mother, I know it. You would be the sort of mother that most children wish for.~~

~~Mother would be thrilled to have you for a daughter-in-law. She already talks about it as if it's a done deal. She gave me her mother’s ring to propose to you. I think she would be proud to have you in her family, more proud than she ever would be of me. I would be proud to be married to you. We would be so happy. I would die to make you happy. But these are just dreams, and you deserve better than me. I wish~~

— — — 

~~Dearest Granger,~~

~~I saw you that day at the village market and I nearly ran and hid. Then I thought, what would you do in the same situation? Probably something brave and stupid, so I did that. I went up to you and bought Pride and Prejudice for you, because I knew it would give you a shock. I love that you keep it on your bedside table.~~

~~When I saw you, I kept thinking of the battle. I was so ready to die, I was so ready to be nothing, and then you were running to me and telling me to stay alive. You had blood on your face, and I wanted to tell you to run away and forget about me. I saw into your mind that day. I told you that after you were tortured, I couldn't see anything in your mind, and that was partly the truth. The full truth is that I could still find what lay at the very surface of your thoughts, and all I could see was your concern and your fear that I would die. You kept saying, over and over in your head, "stay with me, I can't lose you" and it gave me hope. That's why I kept trying to talk to you and spend time with you when we first met here. It was because you had given me hope, that someone like me could be with someone like you.~~

— — — 

~~Dear Hermione,~~

~~I love you too. I heard you say it last night and I wish I said it back. I love you I love you I love you I love you~~

— — — 

~~My beloved~~ Hermione, 

You are the ~~bravest, strongest, most compassionate, most forgiving, most kind-hearted, most beautiful,~~ most wonderful person I have ever had the honour of knowing ~~and loving. It is a privilege to even be part of your life, and I don’t feel worthy to call you my friend, let alone my girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend’ doesn’t even begin to describe to what you are to me.~~ I was stumbling in the dark before I met you here.

I have seen things in the last day or two that have made me rethink my choices. My behaviour has been so foolish for these past months. ~~You know that feeling when you’re enjoying something so much that it goes by too quickly? And you don’t realise that precious time has slipped you by, and then it’s gone. That is how I feel about our time. It was precious and it’s gone. I should have enjoyed it more than I did.~~

~~I heard you tell me you loved me last night. You haven’t heard me tell you that I love you every night when you’re asleep, and I don’t know if you’ll ever know how much I love you. I love you with every single part of myself. I love you from dawn to dusk.~~

~~These are the things I love about you:~~

~~1\. Your kindness.~~

~~2\. Your laugh.~~

~~3\. Your tits.~~

~~4\. Your intelligence.~~

~~5\. Your crazy hair.~~

~~6\. Your right hook (ha ha).~~

~~7\. Your love for the people around you.~~

~~8\. You~~

~~9\. You~~

~~10.You.~~

~~I just love you and it will never be enough. I know you’d argue with me or tell me I’m being stupid, but~~ one day you will find out the reason that I left and you will understand why I did it. ~~I hate that I left you in your bed, and it pains me to think that you will wake up alone tomorrow morning. I hate myself for this, but I hate myself for even thinking that we could be together.~~

You were right about this place. I ~~t’s a town completely lacking in magic and yet it is the most magical place I have ever known. It has everything that I need, most importantly; you.~~ I wish we could stay here forever, w ~~rapped in our blanket of secrecy,~~ but that is not reality and it is not what you deserve. You deserve to go out into the world and change it, and make it a better place, and I cannot be the man that stands by your side. ~~I do not deserve that chance.~~ I will not let history repeat. 

~~I wish that I could kiss you one last time but I have already taken so much of you. I cannot take any more. I love you. I love you with all of my heart. I didn’t even know I was capable of loving someone as I love you, but there’s something to be said for all that inane Gryffindor crap that you keep going on and on about. Your passion changed me.~~

~~I want you to know that you saved me. I was probably going to spend the rest of my life drunk and awful, but now I want more. I want to have a purpose. The way you do. I want people to be my friend because they like me and not because of my bank account. It’s all thanks to you.~~

~~I wish we had danced together at the Yule Ball. I wish we had kissed in our alcove in sixth-year. I wish I had not wasted so many years pretending to hate you. I wish I had told you that I already loved you when you saved me during the battle. I wish I had fought for the good. I wish I had fought by your side.~~

I’m so sorry. ~~Leaving your bed is the hardest thing I have ever done. You are warm and soft and perfect, and I will remember you every day of my life. I will remember your perfume and the way you like eating yoghurt with blueberries and pumpkin seeds for breakfast. I will remember that Jackie Wilson songs make you happy and that you cry at the end of almost every movie. I will remember the feeling of waking up with you sleeping on my chest, and the smell of the coffee you like brewing in the morning. I will remember the way you talked in your sleep. I will see you in every movie I watch and I will hear you in every song that I hear. I will love you until I die. I will probably marry someone awful, someone who looks and sounds nothing like you. We will probably have one or two snotty, horrid children who will hope I die quickly so they can inherit the family fortune. My life will be dull without you, but if you are happy, it will be worth it.~~

I hope you reach your goals. Above all others, you deserve to be happy. ~~I only wish it could have been with me. Please know that I am not doing this to hurt you, but to let you be who you were meant to be.~~ I can’t be the person who holds you back. ~~Don’t change. Don’t straighten your hair, ever. Go and fight for the rights of house-elves and centaurs. Turn the Ministry upside-down. I will watch you from a distance and cheer you on. Just don’t start wearing high heels and prancing around like a crazy woman. Be yourself. Everyone will love you, as I have.~~

— — — 

Dear Hermione

You are the most wonderful person I have ever had the honour of knowing. I was stumbling in the dark before I met you here, and I am going to be grateful that I did for the rest of my life.

I have seen things in the last day or two that have made me rethink my choices. My behaviour has been so foolish for these past months. One day you will find out the reason that I left and you will understand why I did it.

You were right about this place. I wish we could stay here forever, but that is not reality and it is not what you deserve. You deserve to go out into the world and change it, and make it a better place, and I cannot be the man that stands by your side. I will not let history repeat. 

I’m so sorry. I hope you reach your goals. Above all others, you deserve to be happy. I can’t be the person who holds you back.

I love you.

Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How did you like this chapter? It was different, I know, but I wanted it to be like this. I had a very specific plan for the way it would be formatted. Let me know if you enjoyed seeing Draco's POV. 
> 
> As I said at the beginning, it's very dramatic. I think this would be Draco's way of working out the unsaid feelings he has had, without ever intending for Hermione to see them or read them. It's like a journal in some way. I wanted him to be vulnerable and raw, which is not a Draco we usually get to witness. This seemed like a nice way to do it. I hope you think so too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always xxx


	14. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the Battle of Hogwarts 
> 
> 2nd May 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm so glad you liked the format of yesterday's chapter. I love letters. I love love letters. I hope I receive one, at some point in my life. Has anyone written you a love letter? 
> 
> This is another chapter that I haven't done yet - a flashback...but I hope you like it, all the same. 
> 
> I wanted to let you know that I love receiving the comments you write to me - they are like presents! I enjoy it so much when you let me know what you liked in each chapter, or which character you're liking/hating/wanting more of. I'm really grateful to this community, you've accepted me with open arms and I love that so much. I'll keep writing as long as you guys want me to. 
> 
> Maybe I should do some one-shots at some point? How does that work, do you guys request them? If you have a one-shot request for Dramione (keep it clean-ish, we all know that I'm shit at writing smut), write it in the comments and I'll have a look-see.

“ _PROTEGO_!” Hermione screamed, blocking the killing curse from hitting its target. 

_“LOCOMOTOR MORTIS!_ ” Bill Weasley rolled out of the way and took the Death Eater down with a body binding curse, before kicking him in the head. “Thanks, Hermione!”

“Oi, Bill! Use your bloody wand!” Ginny yelled, sending hexes flying towards a group of Death Eaters swarming through the door. 

“Ginny, duck!”

“ _STUPEFY_!”

“ _AVAD_ —,”

Hermione threw a silent curse at Augustus Rookwood and her stomach kicked with grim satisfaction as the spell found its mark. 

“Good one! Keep at it! Keep going!” Bill shouted, expertly taking down three Death Eaters with one spell. The floor underneath them had given out and they were currently smattered against the stones of the level below. 

Hermione was intent on bringing down a Snatcher that she had recognised from Malfoy Manor, and just as she sent him flying against a wall, the feeling of a giant brick hitting her in the stomach made her crumple to the floor. Suddenly, someone was above her, and she looked up, weakly, to see Ginny’s red hair and determined face. Her friend stood with her feet firmly planted on either side of Hermione’s torso, protecting her from oncoming fire. 

“You okay?” Ginny asked, sending silent curses towards an attacker. Hermione gingerly ran her hands up and down her waist, hoping not to find an open wound. 

“I think so.” She wheezed, her lungs weak. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t get up. Stay down.”

Hermione stopped trying and closed her eyes for a minute. She was exhausted. Suddenly, there was quiet, and strong arms were helping her into a sitting position. Bill was lifting her shirt to examine the skin underneath, Ginny biting her lip worriedly. 

“Anything?”

“No, looks like it was just for impact. She went down hard.” Bill poked at Hermione’s stomach with his wand, letting a warm blue light go through the skin to search for ailments.

“But internally?”

“She looks okay. We’ll get her to Madame Pomfrey in a little bit. Why don’t you take her to rest for a few minutes? I’ll deal with them.” Bill nodded towards the door.

“Tell Ron and Harry if you see them. Don’t let them panic!” Ginny shouted. “Tell them we’re okay!”

“I will! If you see Fleur, tell her I’m okay! Tell her I love her!”

“Be safe!”

“You too, Gin!”

— — — 

“Hermione, Hermione come on!” Ginny ran up to her, grabbing her wrist. They ran up the last staircase before diving into hidden alcove to catch their breath. Hermione bent at the waist, putting her free hand on her knee to steady herself. 

“Sorry. That was hard.” She hated running.

“You have to conserve your energy. Breathe. Just breathe and we’ll go back down in a minute.”

Hermione nodded, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Ginny crouched beside her and brushed some of the matted hair out of her friend’s eyes. 

“Hey. They’re okay. Ron’s with Fred and George, and Harry’s—,” she swallowed, “well, he’s Harry. He’s going to be okay.”

“Okay.” Hermione repeated. “Okay. Yes. Let’s go.”

“You’re fine to walk now? You sure? That hex you took seemed like a bad one.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Everything feels okay? Your side?”

“No pain. Doesn’t matter. Couldn’t see who did it.”

“Listen, why don’t I go alone and you stay up—,”

“No, Gin. I’m not letting you go by yourself. We stick together. I promised you and I won’t break that promise.”

Ginny sighed and helped Hermione up. 

“You’re so bloody stubborn!”

“It’s getting better. Just a dull ache now.” Hermione pressed her ribs, wincing. “Come on. Let’s go.”

— — — 

“Luna! Luna, what are you doing?” Luna Lovegood was crouching by Lavender Brown’s body, humming softly and stroking the still girl’s hair. Hermione came up and winced at the sight. She knew Lavender had died, she had seen it happen, but she wasn’t close enough to see her face. Lavender wasn’t her favourite person, but she didn’t deserve this fate. No-one did. Ginny pulled Luna up, angling her away from the bloodied body. Luna resisted.

“Don’t look at her, Luna. Don’t look.”

“My mum died, Ginny. I’ve seen this. It’s okay.” Luna’s voice was far away. “I’ve seen this. I’m okay. I can help.”

“But Luna, she doesn’t need our help now. We can come and get her when this is over. We’ll come back, I promise. Right now, we have to go. Let’s go, okay? She wouldn’t want you to be here with her if it got you hurt. Come with us.” Ginny was holding Luna’s wrists and speaking to her calmly, trying to snap her out of her state of shock.

Hermione crouched, closing Lavender’s eyes and softly wishing her a peaceful journey to the next life. She bent and kissed the girl’s forehead, a tear leaking from her eye. Then she stood, casting a spell over the body so that it would remain untouched until they could come back for her. She turned to her friends. Ginny’s eyes were red, Luna was looking more lucid.

“We have to go.”

“My leg hurts.” Luna said, softly. She shrugged. “Someone hit it with a spell but I couldn’t hear what it was. It’s sore.”

“Lean on me.” Hermione said. “We’ll get you sorted out downstairs.”

“Girls? What are you doing ‘ere?” A thick French accent came from behind them and they spun to see Fleur running towards them, her wand raised. She had a gash above her collarbone and blood was seeping onto her shirt. Hermione grimaced.

“Fleur, thank goodness,” Ginny reached her hand out and Fleur took it, holding on tightly, “we were just with Bill.”

“I know, I saw ‘im just before. We need to go now. Too dangerous up ‘ere, too open.” She gestured to the airy room, filled with floating dust particles from the rubble and broken bricks. 

“We need to get to the Healers. Luna’s leg is injured and Hermione was hit by something in the torso. You look like you could use a healing spell, too.” 

“We shall go the infirmary, then.” Fleur said. “ _Allons-y_ , I will take Luna down with me. Ginny, you stay ‘ere with ‘ermione. Do not follow us for a minute or two.” She instructed. “Luna, _ma cherie, allez_!” She pushed her wand into her thigh holster, turning to lead Luna down the stairs. Hermione had admired Fleur a great deal since she had gotten to know her, and the woman’s resilience and bravery continued to impress her. 

Ginny held her hand out to Hermione. 

“Together?”

“Together.”

They walked to the staircase when Hermione heard an agonised cough. Her head snapped up and she scanned the abandoned floor, scouring the rubble with her eyes. 

“Wait! I heard something.”

“We don’t have time!”

“If someone’s hurt, we have to find them. You know that. We can help them.”

“Hermione, _you’re_ fucking hurt! We have to take care of _you_!”

“Gin, just one second.” Hermione turned, striding back to where the noise came from. There, behind a fallen pillar, lay a man’s body. Ginny had followed her and she gasped.

“Is that—?”

The blood in Hermione’s heart turned to ice and then she was running. As soon as she reached him, she whimpered. There was a long gash across his waist and blood had leaked from his body to the floor. He was deathly pale and his eyelids were fluttering. He was somewhere between life and death. His wand was laying beside him, discarded. Hermione pushed his coat away from his middle, her fingers carefully dancing across his injuries to catalogue what needed fixing most urgently. By the look of him, she had made it just in time. She started working, methodically.

“Draco? Draco? Please, can you hear me? Don’t try to move. You’re fine. I’m going to make you better, okay? Don’t move.” Hermione cast spells across the boy’s chest, murmuring soft, hopeful words of encouragement. She hoped they would give him some peace in the pain he was suffering. She unbuttoned his ruined shirt to get at the wound, fingers trembling from nervousness. “You’re doing fine. You’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. I’m here. We’re here. We’ll help you.”

“Please,” he choked, blood sputtering in his mouth as he tried to turn his head to look. “Greg, he—,” he coughed. Ginny was kneeling next to Draco’s friend, running her wand over his body. Goyle’s eyes were staring up at the ceiling, unblinking and distant. The blood had already drained from the wounds all over his body and there was no reversing the damage. Ginny looked up at Hermione and shook her head. Hermione turned back to Draco. She had to tell him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he’s gone.”

“Help h—,” his eyes were insistent.

“No.” Hermione felt awful. He had lost two of his very few friends in one day. “No, listen to me. He’s dead, Draco. Stop moving! No, stop it. He’s gone. You need to focus on yourself right now. Focus on getting better. Stay alive for me, now, okay?” Hermione rested her hand against his cheek, concentrating on the spells that were mending his torn skin and the angry flesh underneath. Ginny had turned away from Goyle and was rummaging through Hermione’s beaded bag, huffing in frustration. 

“Where is it?” She muttered. “I can’t find the blood-replenishing potion! He needs it, right? I can’t find it, what does it look like?”

“If you find the Dittany, give it to me. Blood-replenisher is the green bottle with a gold lid.”

“Found Dittany.” Ginny tossed her the bottle and Hermione dropped the potion onto Draco’s skin, rubbing it gently against the angry wounds. She watched it heal him further and sighed in relief. Ginny knelt down by Draco’s head, cast an _Anapneo_ to clear his throat of blood, and carefully poured the blood-replenisher into his mouth, emptying the bottle. 

“Come on, now, Hermione. We’ve done what we can. He won’t be found up here and we can send help later.” Ginny placed a gentle hand against Draco’s shoulder before standing.

“No, wait a minute.” Hermione put her ear against his heart and counted his slow heartbeats. “Need to make sure he’s getting better.”

“Hermione, we need to get _you_ checked out. You could be dying. We don’t know what that hex did to you.”

“No, I’m feeling better already.”

“Go. Don’t wait. Get yourself checked by a Healer.” This came from Draco, his voice raspy and pained with effort. He gestured to Hermione to help him sit up and she carefully did so, resting his back against the wall.

“Are you feeling better? Who did this to you?”

“Rookwood. Pissed him off.”

“So he tried to kill you?”

“Did something he didn’t like.”

“What?”

“Saved someone from Selwyn. Innocent. Couldn’t let him die.” He shifted, wincing. “Rookwood took it out on me…and Greg.” He cast a mournful look towards the body lying nearby.

“Hermione, come on!”

Hermione nodded. She returned her palm to his face for a quick minute, relieved to find his cheek warm under her hand. She realised that he was speaking to her and she blinked away the haze of her own thoughts. 

“What?”

“I said, are you hurt?” He was asking her, running his eyes up and down her body to look for a sign of injury. 

“No.” She pushed her hand through her hair. “Oh, yes. I got hit by a spell but I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She was thrown off by the concern in his voice and chalked it up to blood loss. “Uh, yes. I’m sure. I’m going to make it so you can’t be seen up here, okay? Rest for a while, don’t try anything stupid. Be safe.”

“Anything for you, Granger.” He said it with an almost cocky voice. He raised his hand to touch her face and his fingertips came away with blood on them. She forgot that a shard of glass had cut her cheek during an explosion a while ago. He looked like he was struggling to say something else. Hermione knew she was wasting precious time and needed to go with Ginny. She needed to fight.

“Don’t die. Please.” Before she knew what she was doing, she kissed his cheek, before pulling away quicker than a bolt of lightning. They locked eyes, shock flooding onto both of their faces, and then she was pushing herself off the floor and away from him. 

“Hermione!”

“Coming. Coming.” Hermione picked up her bag and cast a Disillusionment charm over Draco. She ran after Ginny and decided that her heart was beating fast because she was fighting in a war and not because she had just kissed Draco Malfoy. Ginny gave her an amused smile as they walked down the staircase.

“So, now that you’ve saved his life, do you think he’ll finally like you back?” 

“Oh, shut up, Ginny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the Battle flashback! 
> 
> P.S. Hermione was fine, the spell that hit her wasn't deadly, just meant to cause some pain & slow her down.
> 
> How did you like it? Let me know!


	15. A Grandmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. 
> 
> Today’s chapter is a sad one. I’ll write more at the end.

Narcissa was waiting for her, it seemed. Hermione had Apparated to the Black house after getting dressed and found the door open. She stormed in and headed straight for the living room. Narcissa was sitting at the piano, a generously poured glass of Firewhisky resting in her hand. Hermione wondered if drinking hard liquor at 9 am was a normal occurrence for the lady of the house.

“Darling.” She took a very ungraceful swig. “I see he’s told you.”

Hermione held up the letter.

“Wrote. He wrote to me to tell me that I deserve to be happy, that he loves me, and then he left!”

Narcissa took the letter and scanned it before looking back up at Hermione. 

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.” It flew from her mouth with absolutely certainty.

“Well, then. He’s acting like an idiot.” If she hadn’t been so angry, Hermione would have smiled at the idea that Narcissa was calling her precious son an idiot. 

“Did you read his mind? Do you know why he left?”

The terse nod she received made her anxious.

“I cannot tell you.”

The anxiety was replaced by a heavy weight of anguish. 

“Why not? Did I do something?” 

Narcissa laughed, hollowly. “No, my darling, it’s not your fault. He’s found something out and has decided to martyr himself to save you from a fate that he has concocted in his head.”

“Save me? From what?”

“Hermione, I’m afraid this is the part where I must bow out. He is an adult, you are an adult. I cannot stand in between you and try to pull you back together. His behaviour is quite asinine at the moment and if you were not you, I would tell you to give up on him.” She looked at Hermione with very serious eyes. “But the fact is, you’re Hermione Granger, and my son has loved you for years. You love him too, so I will say this once and that will be the end of my interference: what you two have is worth fighting for, so I wouldn’t take this stupidity lying down.”

Hermione sank to the sofa, the letter dropping to the rug.

“He left me. I woke up and he was—,” her voice broke, “just gone. I don’t know how he could do that.”

“You need to make him explain. His thought process is warped, I don’t even know how he decided to go straight to such a dramatic reaction—,”

“Reaction to what?!” 

“Darling, I can’t say. If it was just Draco, it would be no issue. He’s my son, I can say what I want about him to you. This is someone else’s life. I cannot abuse their privacy by telling you without permission.”

Hermione was struck with a thought. 

“It was Mrs Owens, wasn’t it? He saw something in her mind and it made him leave.” It wasn’t a question and Narcissa’s mouth twitched. 

“You really are very intelligent.”

— — — 

Hermione sat in the bookshop. It was evening time, and she was reading through the logs. 

“Dear?”

She looked up to see Mrs Owens carefully descending the staircase, her walking stick wobbling along beside her. 

“Mrs Owens, why are you here? You should be resting!”

“No, no. I need to stretch my legs. Besides, I’m just coming to keep you company until you go home.”

Hermione helped the old lady to the armchair she and Draco had brought downstairs for her, draping a blanket over her as she sat. 

“Is it okay? Do you need another cushion?”

“It’s perfect, thank you, dear.” Mrs Owens pushed her glasses up her nose and stared at Hermione. “Now, where is that fellow of yours?”

Hermione was thrown off by the frank question. She felt the overwhelming wave of sadness, that had been threatening to flood all day, wash right over her and she burst into tears. Mrs Owens reached for her and Hermione sank to the floor, resting her head on the old lady’s lap, letting her stroke her hair. 

She didn’t know how long she cried, or where the unbridled emotion was coming from, but she couldn’t bear the hurt that was sitting in her heart. He left. He left her and she was alone. At some point, her tears stopped and she raised her head to see Mrs Owens looking at her with maternal concern. 

“What happened, my dear? What happened to him?”

“He left.”

“Oh? Where did he go?”

“London. I think. He has a flat there. He’s gone back.”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.” Some fresh tears leaked down Hermione’s face and they burned her cheeks. “No, we were so happy. He left me a letter.”

“What did it say?”

Hermione pulled the letter, which she had read and reread every ten minutes since the morning, from her back pocket. Mrs Owens squinted at it. Five minutes later, she put down the letter to wipe Hermione’s eyes. 

“He’s trying to protect you, I see.”

“But from what?”

Mrs Owens laughed. “Oh, my dear, isn’t it obvious? He’s trying to protect you from himself.”

“Himself?”

“I don’t know what you went through before you came here, but I can see that there are things that haunt the both of you. Perhaps he is afraid of his demons.”

“I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t talk to me.”

Mrs Owens looked like she was struggling with herself, and finally sighed. 

“When my husband was younger, he struggled with some of his own demons. He used to say the exact same thing to me,” she shook the letter, “that I deserved more than he could give, and that he wanted me to be happy. He thought I would be better off without him.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him that I loved him, and to stop being stupid.”

Hermione laughed, shakily, before sinking her head back to Mrs Owen’s knee. 

“I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“He’ll come around, Hermione. He loves you too much not to.”

“Do you really think so? He’s stubborn.”

“I’ve known my share of stubborn men in my life and he is no different. All he needs is some time and he’ll be back before you know it.”

Hermione decided to voice an unspoken fear. 

“What if this is it, Mrs Owens? I was so foolish to think that he’d be happy here. Maybe it was too much, being in a serious relationship with me.” She looked at the carpet with blotchy eyes. “I’m not exactly the type of girl he was meant to end up with.”

Mrs Owens yanked Hermione’s head up by her hair, glaring at her. 

“Now you listen to me, young lady. That boy had no doubts about you, none at all. You are a wonderful girl and he was lucky to be with you.”

“But—,”

“Love,” Mrs Owens released her grip and Hermione rested her chin on the old lady’s knee, “you were made for each other. Everyone in the village thinks so. You’ve brought such a spark back to this little corner of the countryside and we’re all so pleased you came here.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes. 

“I miss him. He’s been gone less than a day and I miss him so terribly.”

“Well,” Mrs Owens nodded at her, sagely, “that’s what happens when your person has gone away.”

“ _My_ person?”

“Your person.”

— — — 

Hermione fell into a pattern for the next few months. She would wake up, take care of Mrs Owens and work at the shop until the evening, then she would go home, force down some dinner and cry herself to sleep. Occasionally, she would visit Narcissa, Andromeda and Teddy, but being in their house was painful without him sitting beside her at the dinner table. It was a pitiful existence but keeping Mrs Owens company gave her a sense of purpose when she felt listless and empty. 

As the days went on and the autumn leaves fell to reveal the bare bones of winter trees, Hermione realised that Mrs Owens was getting more and more tired. She stayed asleep longer, and her appetite dwindled. Andromeda would come by every few days to give her more medicine, but even she had told Hermione that the time was coming. 

“Sweetheart, I think you need to be prepared.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure that Mrs Owens is going to get better. This might be it.”

Panic set into Hermione’s bones. 

“But she’s not even that old. She’s been healthy her whole life. Why is this happening? She’s getting worse every day.”

“She’s a Muggle. She has a different lifespan than we do, and even aside from that, she’s lived a long life. Sometimes, we don’t have answers.” She touched Hermione’s chin. “Sometimes, there is no illness, our bodies just don’t have the strength to keep going.”

“Is it because her husband died? Is she giving up?” Hermione felt despair claw at her chest in a way she didn’t know was possible.

“It’s hard to tell. Some people do die for that reason, but maybe her body is just tired.”

Hermione looked at the floor, biting her lip with worry.

“How long does she have left?”

Andromeda handed her Mrs Owens’ medicines and gave her a small, sad smile. 

“I can’t say. It could be weeks, maybe months.”

“But, she’s suffering. She’s in pain, isn’t she? I know she’s struggling but she just never complains.”

“Hermione, you are doing everything you can to make her feel comfortable. You’re doing all you can.”

“It’s not enough, though, is it?”

“It’s time, sweetheart. It’s nature. We cannot bend the will of the fates.”

— — — 

Hermione put the tray down on Mrs Owens’ lap and held out the spoon to her. It was November and Draco had been gone for over three months. Hermione had finally become used to it. She no longer imagined that he would come back to her. 

“Potato and leek, your favourite.”

“Thank you, dear. Are you eating?”

“Oh, no. Not hungry.”

Mrs Owens gave her a very disbelieving look. 

“Dear, you’re getting too thin.” 

It was true. Hermione had gone from being slim to being gaunt and she hated to look in the mirror and see her cheeks so hollow. There was very little on her body apart from skin and bones, but her energy had left her and she made no effort to look after herself.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll eat when I get home. I will.” It was a lie but it assuaged Mrs Owens and the old lady began to eat. When she was finished, Hermione took the tray away before coming to sit with her. 

“Oh, I’ve got something for you.” Mrs Owens sat up, suddenly. 

“What?”

“Just go to the dresser, there’s a box in the top drawer.”

Hermione did as she was told and brought the beautiful, carved wooden box to the bed. Mrs Owens gestured at her to open it and she did. Inside lay several documents, letters and a stack of photos, tied with a ribbon. 

“These are my most precious items, my dear. All of my letters to my husband, and his letters to me, our photographs, and the deed to this building. The shop and the apartment.”

Hermione delicately pulled the documents out of the box and frowned when she found two envelopes at the bottom, among a few pieces of jewellery and other trinkets. The first was addressed to _Ms Hermione Granger,_ and the second was addressed to _Ms Hermione Granger & Mr Draco Black. _

“What are these for?”

“They,” Mrs Owens put her hand over Hermione’s, “are for you and Draco to read.” She smiled, sadly. “After I’m gone.”

Hermione dropped the letters into the box and shook her head. 

“No, don’t say things like that. You’re not going any—,”

“My dear, I may not know what Andromeda has told you about my health, but I know my own body well enough. I can feel it.”

Hermione couldn’t stop the tears that were running down her cheeks onto the blanket. She pushed all of the papers and photos back into the box, shutting it with a vehement shake of her head. 

“You can’t leave me. We’ve only just found each other.”

“Hermione, it’s time. I’m ready.”

“But, why? Why are you letting go?”

Mrs Owens face was honest and open. 

“Because I miss my husband. I want to see him again, in Heaven.”

“In Heaven?”

“The day he died, I died with him. I want to be with him again.”

Hermione couldn’t argue with it and so, she swallowed the burning pain in her throat and clutched Mrs Owens soft hand within both of hers, trying not to think of how frail it felt. 

“I love you.”

“I know you do, my sweet girl. I love you too.” Mrs Owens blinked away twin tears and smiled. “I know I’m not your grandmother,” she hesitated, “but I couldn’t be prouder of you than if I was.”

“You _are_ my grandmother, Mrs Owens.” Hermione meant it. She had never been close to her biological grandparents, because they had died when she was very young. Mrs Owens was more a grandmother to her than anyone else had ever been. “And I’m your granddaughter. We’re family.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I wish Draco was here with us. He loves you, too. He loves you so much.”

“I know. He’s with me, here.” Mrs Owens pointed at her own heart. “Just like you are. You will always be with me in my heart, and I will be with you in yours.”

“Please don’t leave me.” It was a final, quiet plea, even though Hermione knew it was futile. Andromeda was right, it was time, and she could not stop time.

“I will _always_ be with you, my girl.” Mrs Owens gave her a jaunty smile. “My beautiful, smart, precious girl. I’m can’t tell you how happy I am that you came to Churchbury. You brought so much light back into my shop, and into my life.”

“I wish I had been here for longer. I wish we had more time together.”

“All the time we _did_ have was special.”

“It was.”

“You have to go and get him back, dear. He belongs with you.”

“Don’t worry about that now. You need to rest.”

“I know. Big day tomorrow, doing absolutely nothing.”

Hermione forced a laugh and rested her head on the blanket, her eyes heavy.

“I’ll just go in a minute.”

“Don’t be silly. Stay, dear. It’s late and it’s cold outside.”

Hermione kissed the old lady’s forehead. She settled into the armchair and wrapped a blanket around herself, tucking her feet underneath her.

“I’m really glad I have you, Mrs Owens.”

“Me too. Goodnight, dear.”

— — — 

The next morning, Hermione woke to find that Mrs Owens was no longer with her. 

The old lady looked so peaceful that Hermione just sat there for an hour, unable to move. No tears came. She was almost relieved. Dorothy Owens was finally with her husband. Then, Hermione’s unfailing logic snapped into place and she called the Black house from the landline. Within seconds, Narcissa and Andromeda had Apparated into the flat with Teddy, still in their pyjamas and robes. Narcissa put Teddy on the carpet and ran to comfort Hermione, while Andromeda went to see Mrs Owens.

“She knew. I—,” Hermione pulled away from Narcissa’s hug, her voice quiet and shaky, “I just thought I had a little more time with her.”

“I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

“I didn’t get to tell her everything. I should’ve—,”

“No, don’t do this.” Narcissa used her thumbs to wipe the tears from Hermione’s eyes, shaking her head. “Don’t go and regret anything. She was alone until you found her. You gave her so much love.”

“I miss her.”

“I know, darling. I know.”

And then, she was being encompassed in Narcissa’s arms again. Some time later, she found herself sitting at the Black house, Mrs Owens’ wooden box on her lap. Andromeda was at the funeral house, sorting out arrangements with the priest. Teddy was sitting next to Hermione, silent and still. His hair was dark and straight and his eyes were sad, like he somehow knew what had happened. 

Narcissa dropped to the couch, holding a cup of tea. 

“You have to drink this. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m okay.”

“ _Drink_. You’re still in shock. You need to get your energy up.”

Hermione accepted the cup and took a sip. It was sweet and milky, and it made her stomach rumble from hunger. 

“Thank you.”

Narcissa picked up Teddy and stroked his hair. She looked at the box on Hermione’s lap.

“Are you going to read it?”

“What?”

“The letter you keep thinking about?”

“Oh. I don’t want to.”

“Hermione, darling, she left it for you for after her passing. I think you need to.”

“There’s another one for me and Draco to read together.”

“I know. I saw it in your mind, too.”

“I have to tell him she died.” Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again. _How could she tell him that one of his most beloved people had passed away?_

“Do you want me to do it? I can Floo him right now.”

Hermione shook her head. This was her battle to fight. She had to face him.

“No. I have to do this myself. He has to hear it from me.”

“Yes, darling. I agree. But you should know,” Narcissa stood, lifting Teddy to rest him on her shoulder, “that the answers you have been looking for are in that letter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very nervous to post this. I cried when I was writing it because I lost my grandmother at a very young age and I always wish that I had been given the chance to have a conversation with her. I hope you forgive me for Mrs Owens’ death. I wanted to give her peace since she was really just living a half-life after her husband passed. 
> 
> I hope you understand why this chapter was written and I hope you forgive me. I really loved Mrs Owens' character. She meant a lot to me, and I think you all loved her too.


	16. Freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my lovely friends. I know the last chapter was a very sad one, so I wanted to give you this one tonight as well. I just finished writing it. It was a difficult one, and I cried a lot. I had forgotten that Dorothy Owens is someone who lives in my mind because she seems very real to me. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your kind comments on the previous chapter, I know it was hard for a lot of you to get through.
> 
> I hope this chapter gives you some explanation into Dorothy Owens' life and lets you know more about Frederick Owens.

_A letter addressed to Ms Hermione Granger:_

My dearest Hermione,

If you are reading this, then it means I have gone. It is the afternoon and you and Draco are sitting outside eating ice cream, and I am sitting here, watching you with a smile on my face. A few weeks ago, I went to see my husband’s grave, and to my surprise, I found a bouquet of flowers sitting on it. I asked Reverend Carter and he told me you had come by the church to visit and ask about Frederick. I should have known it wouldn’t take you long to try and find out about my past. 

I feel very troubled that I will not tell you what happened in person, because I think you and Draco would be the people to understand, but I have kept this secret since I came to this village with my husband in 1948. I know that you might think this to be an act of cowardice, but keeping the past a secret gave Frederick and I the opportunity to live our lives in peace. I am more than happy to let you find this letter after I am gone. I want to tell you the story of my life now, and so, for the first time in five decades, I will share my story. Today happens to be the anniversary of the day I first met Frederick, so it seems right. Before you read the rest of this letter, I want you to know that my life has been lived with no regrets. I hope you don’t think of me any differently after you find out the truth. 

My name was Dorothy Elizabeth Weston and I was born in London. I was only twelve years old when World War Two began. My older brother, Patrick, and my father were conscripted and they both died before the first year of fighting was over. My mother was not a strong woman and she spent all of her war widow pension on alcohol. By 1944, I was seventeen and working as a volunteer nurse in a makeshift hospital outside of the city. Because I was untrained, I was paid very little in comparison to real nurses, but it was enough to keep my mother and I off the streets. It was hard work, and I saw a lot of pain and suffering, but I had a duty to my country and to my people. I had to work, and I took pride in it. 

I was transferred to a small ward for prisoners of war. The administrators at the hospital had been instructed to keep all the wounded prisoners healthy, but they couldn’t afford to waste the already sparse number of trained nurses on the enemy, so they sent untrained girls to care for them. There were four of us working in the POW ward. I was terrified to see the enemy. I imagined them to be like the monsters from my nightmares, but instead, I found broken, traumatised men who looked like my father and my brother. I had every intention of hating these men but then I remembered that such hatred could start wars, and so I made up my mind to be kind to them. Most of them did not speak English. Some were aggressive. On occasion, one or two would curse or spit at us, calling us names in their native languages. All the while, I kept working with a smile on my face. If it had been my brother in a German POW ward, I hoped he would have had a kind nurse by his side. 

One day, a manager came to tell us that a Nazi defector was coming to the ward. He had surrendered during a shoot-out, asking for clemency because he did not want to fight for Germany anymore. He had been injured at some point before this, and had a bullet stuck in his abdomen. In some miracle way, he did not die during the journey to England. He showed up, sick and exhausted, on a stretcher just past midnight. The doctors performed surgery on him and he was brought to my ward to recover. It was a difficult surgery and the recovery time was estimated to be at least three months or he could have severe damage to his spine. The government had sent strict instructions to keep him separate from the other men in the ward, in case they heard that he was a traitor to them. I had one of the twelve-hour shifts.

There are photos in my treasure box of Frederick when he was young so I shall not bore you with a description, but he was the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. I hated feeling attracted to him because he was the enemy. I did not trust that he was truly a defector, or even someone capable of remorse or guilt. I wanted so badly to believe that he was just like all the other soldiers who had come through my ward; a bitter, angry man who wanted nothing more than to see the Allied forces defeated. I was wrong. 

For the first week he was there, he did not talk to me at all. He lay in his hospital cot and stared at the ceiling. He never looked at me, even when I was helping him drink water or feeding him broth. He never spoke. If he needed to use the restroom, he would simply touch my hand and I would help him to the door. One week of silence, in which time, I watched him sleep for most of my shifts. I started to draw his face when he slept. It was the first time I really tried to make art, and it was him that inspired me. Those drawings are in my bedside table, inside my copy of the Bible. 

Some days, I would sit with him and read to myself. I loved books very much, and we only had a few at home since they were very expensive and we were very poor. My favourite was The Great Gatsby. One day, he spoke. He said “read to me” in perfect English. So I did. I read to him. I started to read to him every day, working my way through my small collection. By the third week, I had finished my books and I came to the ward with nothing to read. By this time, he and I were friends. Cautiously, but still friends. He asked me why I did not have a book with me and I told him the reason. That day, he started to tell me stories about his childhood. 

His name was Frederick Vogel and he was born into a very rich family in Stuttgart. His father was a big supporter of Adolf Hitler, but his mother had been a very devout woman who had taught him to value all life. These conflicting viewpoints caused him a great deal of pain. Frederick never truly believed in the Nazi ideals, in the importance of purity and the genocide of so many innocents. He had no choice but to become a soldier. His father would not allow anything else, nor would Hitler. You may not feel this way, but I am firm of the belief that, because these men were raised with such strict and unyielding beliefs and given guns as soon as they were old enough, the young Nazi soldiers in my ward were just boys who were fighting their fathers’ war. They had no business dying on the battlefields, neither did our boys, but they did, and we suffered. All of us suffered. Frederick told me that he had killed men. He told me that he watched the life drain from their eyes, and that every night, he saw their faces again; he watched them die again. 

He was so ashamed of his part in the war, of the uniform that he had worn, that he could never truly be free of his trauma. I knew this from the beginning, but I still found myself feeling butterflies whenever he smiled at me. I hated myself at first for having any sort of good relationship with a Nazi soldier, when my brother and my father had died at the hands of Nazi soldiers. My mother, had she been sober and knowledgeable about my feelings, would have disowned me for what I was doing. I was no longer his nurse, but his friend. I fell in love with him without realising that it was love. He had been sitting up, talking to me about the places he loved to visit when he was young, and suddenly he leaned over to push a curl of my hair behind my ear. I knew, when he touched me, that I had loved him for some time. I said it aloud, even though I was embarrassed. He told me he loved me, too. That was it for me. I had found my person. It took three months. 

You will think it is silly that a person can fall in love in such a short amount of time, but this was during a war. None of us knew if we would survive it, and many people married quickly because they were frightened that their happiness would be robbed by fate. During this time, things were simpler, as well. There were no games to be played. I loved him, and he loved me. We decided, if we would be permitted, to marry as soon as we could. He told me, even if the war ended, that he could never go back to Germany. He didn’t want to go back. So, it was England for us. I hated the city; the noise, the pollution. I dreamed of a life in the countryside. He did, too. We wanted to live in a house with flowers in the garden, and many children.

The government questioned Freddie for weeks after his recovery to try and get information from him. I do not know what he told them or what they did to him during those weeks, but he never spoke about it and I never asked. I still don’t know. After, they allowed him to remain in the country. They suggested that he change his name. My mother was still a mess and I could not bring him back to the house because she would never allow me to marry a German man. At the time, people that knew him hated him for being a former Nazi. We had nowhere to go in the city, so we decided to run away and find our countryside dream. We took shelter with a priest called Owen Matthews, in a little town not too far from here. The day we met him, we asked him to marry us and he did. He understood our struggle and allowed us to stay in the tiny house in the churchyard. We stayed there for four years. 

In that time, Freddie learned the skill of carpentry so he could do odd-jobs around the town and I taught at the local school. We had very little money but we made do. Reverend Matthews never let us pay him for his generosity, instead insisting that we save the money we earned so that we could start a new life somewhere. Over those four years, Freddie practiced a British accent. By 1948, we had enough money to finally start our life. We asked Reverend Matthews if we could take his first name as our own surname, in honour of the kindness he showed us. (We stayed in touch with him until his death in 1956.) We moved to Churchbury and bought this building. It was a chemist shop before we came, but it had gone out of business during the war. Freddie asked me to let him make it into a bookshop for me, telling me that he hoped it would make up for the many years I spent with so few books. He built the bookshelves and the furniture inside the shop, including my desk. We moved into the apartment upstairs and, finally, we had our own life. It was wonderful.

We decided to keep our secret from everyone, because Churchbury had lost sons during the war. We could not hurt our new neighbours and friends by letting them know that a British girl had married a German boy and was living in their village, only three years after the war ended. We knew our happiness would cause them great pain and so we continued as Frederick and Dorothy Owens. We never told anyone apart from Reverend Matthews, so you and Draco will be the second and third person to know. 

Some years passed before we realised that our dream of having children would not come true. I felt sad for some time but I knew that we had been so lucky to find each other, and that it had been our blessing. We were fortunate in other ways. Freddie was like a father-figure to the young, fatherless children in the village. They came to the bookshop to listen to me read fairytales to them every afternoon after their school finished. I still remember their sweet faces. Most of them moved away when they grew up. We did not become parents but we were happy and we loved each other very much. The way I loved my husband was as deeply as I could ever imagine a love to be. 

I want you to know that I am very proud of the man I married. He made mistakes, and he fought for the wrong side of a horrific war, but he was a good man. He repented and he begged forgiveness every day at church before he went to work in the surrounding villages. He had nightmares about the soldiers he killed for his whole life and he always felt that he was not doing enough for others. He gave with both hands and he never took anything. We didn’t have a lot, but anyone was welcome at our house for supper.

I have a small fear in my heart that you will hate me for marrying a man who was once a Nazi. I do not know if your grandfathers fought in the war, but I would understand if you are angry that I made this choice. I know I married the enemy, but he wasn’t my enemy and he wasn’t evil. He loved me with all of his heart and he showed me kindness in all of his acts. Freddie was everything to me, and I miss him every day. When he was buried, I wanted to lie down with him and die as well, but I knew I had to keep living until God called me back to him. 

When you first met me, my shop was a mess. I could barely think about sorting through books when my husband died. I let the mess pile up and soon, it was too big for me to handle. Then, you came to me, like an angel. You offered to help me, and the act of your kindness reminded me so much of my husband. He was like you. A kind, smart man, who loved to read and loved to laugh. You would have liked him. When Draco came to the village to win you back, I saw a love between you that I had forgotten existed. You made each other better. I love to watch you talk with him about books. It feels like watching myself and Freddie in the ward, so many years ago. Whenever the two of you bicker over silly things, or share a bar of chocolate, or even just sit and read together, I feel like I have stepped into a time machine. You have been a blessing to my life and I am grateful that you stopped by my bookstall those many months ago. You will never know how much I love you and Draco, my dear Hermione. I pretend that you are my granddaughter, because I see so much of my husband in you, and it makes me so happy. 

Wherever you go in your life and whatever you choose to do, please know that I am with you in spirit. Don’t be sad that I am gone. I am so happy that I got to know you and Draco, and I hope you have a beautiful life together, just like Freddie and I did. I think you should write a book. You are talented and so passionate about literature, I know you would be an excellent author. Write, Hermione. I know you have a wonderful story to tell. Now, I shall end this letter here, because you and Draco have invited me over to your flat for dinner tonight and I am baking a cake in the kitchen upstairs to bring with me. It should be nearly done by now.

Be brave. Love fiercely. Be happy.

With all my love,

_Dorothy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder now if you can see why Draco left Hermione?
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on Dorothy's letter. Thank you for reading, as always. 
> 
> Love to you all ❤️


	17. Goodbye, Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on the last two chapters have been so overwhelmingly kind. I get a shock every time someone calls me an author, because I've never thought of myself in that way. Thank you for your feedback. I loved reading it all. The fact that you enjoy this story is so gratifying for me. I started to write it A Year in the Countryside with no clue where it would go, but I'm really glad we're here, aren't you? I loved creating Dorothy and Frederick Owens, and I'm really happy that you liked them. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter.

Hermione stood outside Draco’s flat the next morning. Her hands were shaking by her sides and she had to try and quell the storm raging inside her. She raised a fist to knock at his door, but dropped it. 

_What if he told her to go away? What was she supposed to tell him? Would he think she looked awful? Would he say he missed her?_

She knocked. There were muffled footsteps and then the door opened. He stood there, looking exactly as he had when she had wished him goodnight over three months ago and fallen asleep next to him. 

“Granger.”

“I—,” and that was all she could get out before she started crying. His arms came around her before she could crumple to the ground and then he was lifting her and carrying her into the apartment, sitting her down on the sofa. He knelt on the floor between her knees, checking her over for injuries. 

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

She shook her head. 

“No, no, I’m not hurt.” 

“Then, what is it?” He frowned as she rubbed her eyes and quietened. 

“I came to tell you.”

“Tell me?”

“Draco, Mrs Owens died yesterday. I’m so sorry.”

He lost his balance and fell to the floor, stunned. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. She died in her sleep.” Hermione’s chin trembled. 

“Was she—,” Draco swallowed, looking away from her, “was she alone?”

“No.”

He caught her eye, the tension in his shoulders reducing slightly.

“You?”

Hermione nodded. 

“She asked me to stay the night, and when I woke up, she was just gone.”

He rose back to his knees and put his hands on her thighs. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t see her before she died.” She said this bitterly. He winced and bowed his head.

“I know. I know. I wish I—,”

“What? Hadn’t left?”

“Hermione, I—,”

“No, you listen to me, Draco Malfoy. You stepped out of my life and vanished for _months_. You didn’t even visit your mother, or Andromeda and Teddy, or Mrs Owens. You just left.” She stood up, grabbing his collar and yanking him up with her. “And I know why.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes.” She pulled the envelope out of her coat pocket and waved it at him. “She told me.”

“She—,”

“She told me about Frederick.”

“So you understand why I had to go.”

“No, actually, I don’t understand it at all. What’s more, I don’t understand how you could read all of her thoughts. She was so good at hiding them from you, you said. ”

Draco turned, walking to the window, his fingertips pressed against his temples. 

“She was thinking about him for the last few days I was there. After her stroke. I never liked to pry in her thoughts after I got to know her but there were some that were just pushing to the surface and I couldn’t stop myself. She kept thinking about how they met and came here. It was right in the front of her thoughts, so I could see most of them clearly.”

“And?”

He turned to face her, his expression incredulous.

“You know what happened! She told you, right? She told you he was a Nazi, and that they came here to get away from persecution? That they had to live with their secret for their whole lives?”

“Is that all that you got from her? That they had a secret?”

“They couldn’t tell anyone!”

“Draco! You’re a bloody wizard! I’m a witch! We’ve kept that secret the whole time we’ve been in Churchbury and we’ve never suffered! All of the magical world is a secret and we’ve been fine so far!”

“That’s different!”

“So, what? You found out that they had this secret and it made you leave? Why? Because we have a similar story?”

“Because we have the _same_ story, Granger. The exact same story.”

“No, we don’t.”

“He fought for the wrong side. _I_ fought for the wrong side. She fell in love with him and then suffered her whole life.”

“How the _hell_ did she suffer?”

“She spent her life in that tiny apartment with a husband who had to keep his identity a secret. They lived their lives in the dark! I’m not letting you live like that! You deserve so much more!”

“Draco, she was happy! It was her _dream_ to go the countryside. She had no regrets in her life, because she was with the man she loved!”

“What?”

Hermione felt her anger vanish immediately, because she could see, plain as day, that Draco had simply found out only half of the story from Mrs Owens’ mind. It was no wonder, since the old lady, Muggle though she was, had trained herself to keep her mind a private place. Hermione stepped forward and held the letter out to him.

“You need to read it.”

“No.”

“ _Now_.” He knew not to argue with her when she used this voice.

“Okay, okay, fine.” He took the letter and sat on the couch. Hermione sat opposite in an armchair and waited as his eyes flew across the pages, back and forth. She looked around the small, expensive-looking apartment and smiled when she saw a TV set and a shelf of familiar-looking movies on the far wall. Twenty minutes later, after he had probably read it for the fourth time, she got up to make tea. She was just stirring a teaspoon of sugar into Draco’s cup when she felt him come up behind her, his hand softly touching her waist. She spun, focusing her gaze on the front of his sweater. 

“How can I ask you to be with me, when that would bring such shame to your reputation?” It was almost a whisper. 

She stepped closer, so that she could smell his cologne, and placed a hand on his chest, still avoiding his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t be ashamed.”

“You’re so beloved, Hermione. The whole world is in love with you. You could do anything, _be_ anything. You could have any man you want.”

“I wanted you.” 

“Wanted?” His voice sounded hurt.

“ _You_ left _me_ , remember?”

“You never came after me. I thought—,”

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and gave a huff of exasperation. 

“You thought I would fight for you? I have been fighting ever since I got to Hogwarts. I was a Muggle-born witch and _certain_ people made my life miserable.” He looked embarrassed. “I had to prove myself every single day, and I studied so hard to win my place at the top of the year. I worked hard. Then, I fought hard during the war. I spent an entire _year_ on the run, trying to destroy Horcruxes with Harry and Ron. I was tortured in your house. I fought during the battle. I have spent _years_ fighting, Draco. When you left me, I was done.” He looked pained as she continued. “I was done fighting for what I believed in, fighting for what I wanted. You left me and I was so depressed and humiliated that I just gave up. I stopped caring, and I focused all of my energy into Mrs Owens. She needed me.” Then she added, “She needed you, too.”

“I know.” He hung his head in shame. “I can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“That’s why I came to find you. The funeral is tomorrow.” She hesitated. “I think we should both say something for the eulogy.”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to her. I can’t speak at her funeral.”

“Listen to me.” Hermione grabbed his wrists. “She loved you. She wasn’t the type to feel badly about you leaving. She spoke of you the night before she, you know. She said you were—,” her voice broke, “that you were with her in her heart.”

She watched a tear fall from Draco’s chin to the floor.

“She said that?”

“She did. She really did, I promise. She was at peace when she died.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you face that alone.”

“We can’t change the past, Draco. We can only make the future better.”

He let out a shaky laugh. 

“If only we had a time-turner.”

“Too bad I gave mine back to McGonagall.”

“Wait, what—,”

“Never mind that now.”

There was a silence for a moment.

“I thought you would be better off without me.”

“Well, that’s a pretty stupid assumption to make.”

“I want you to have a good life.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have a good life with you?”

“Uh, well, I—,”

“Do you love me?” She caught his eye.

“Yes, but—,”

“And were you happy with me in our village?”

“Yes, but that—,”

“So where’s the problem?”

“I don’t want you to feel that I’m holding you back. Once the Daily Prophet gets ahold of us being in a relationship, I’ll have people sending howlers every day for daring to be with you and you will probably miss out on so many opportunities because you’re tied to me.”

“We are not going to have a life lived in secret, Draco. I’m not hiding. I’m never going to let anyone make me feel like I’m doing something wrong. It’s my life. You keep talking about ‘deserve’ but I _deserve_ to make my own choices. I want you. It’s always been you.”

“What can I give you? I have nothing to give.”

“Give? You’ve made me so happy this year.” She cupped a palm against his cheek. “So happy. I was going to spend it alone and then you came into my life and changed everything. Listen to me, Draco. If we have even _half_ the life Dorothy and Frederick had together, I would count myself to be the luckiest woman alive.”

“But—,”

“No. You don’t get to make decisions for me when it’s our life together. _We_ make decisions. When you had seen what happened with Mrs Owens, you should have talked to me. We could have worked through it together, because that is what people do when they _love_ each other.”

“I thought that making a sacrifice would be better for you.”

“Draco, sometimes sacrifice is unnecessary. I am capable of making up my mind about what I want for my life. I want to be with you. That’s all I know for certain, right now. These past months without you have been a misery for me. I want to be with you, so get over yourself and stop trying to run away.”

“I won’t. It was torture for me, too.”

“And by the way,” she poked his chest, “you really need to get better at reading minds, because I’m not going to be so forgiving if you do this sort of thing again.”

“Duly noted.” He had the good sense to look ashamed.

“So you’ll come back with me?” 

“If you want me to.”

“Have you not been listening, you smug bastard?”

“I’ll come, of course I will. As soon as I left, I knew it was a mistake, but I was too scared to face you so I stayed here.”

“Why didn’t you go back to the Manor? Why come to your London flat?”

“I sold it.”

Hermione’s eyes widened into large saucers and her mouth dropped open. _He sold the ancestral seat of the Malfoy family?_

“Why?”

“I couldn’t stay there anymore, nor could Mother. Not when so many people had died there. Not when you had been tortured there.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it.”

“You’re so cheesy. You’ve been watching too many romantic comedies, I see.”

He bent to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her middle and lifting her up. He suddenly set her down, and pulled away.

“You weigh nothing. Haven’t you been eating?”

“Not really.” She made a mental note to have ice cream after every meal for a month.

“I’ll make you something now.”

“No,” she slid her palms up his chest and wrapped her hands around his neck, “why don’t you come back home with me and we’ll get something from the Llewellyn’s bakery for breakfast?”

“That sounds far better. I can only make pasta and toast and I’m out of both at the moment.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” As she turned to pull him behind her, he tugged on her hand and forced her to look back at him. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry that I did this to us.”

“Just don’t pull a stunt like this again and we’ll be okay.” She returned his kiss, her heart settling into a steady rhythm. _All was right with the world_ , she thought, before remembering Mrs Owens. _Well, almost all was right with the world._

He pulled away from her again, eyeing her warily.

“You’re not still angry with me, then?” He almost sounded hopeful. She gave him one of his own patented smirks.

“Oh, don’t think you can get out of this so quickly. I am _so_ angry at you,” Hermione said, her voice dangerously smooth, “that if you so much as put a toe out of line for the next ten or so years, I will curse you into your next life.”

“Oh, gods.”

“What?”

“My mother is going to kill me when I get back.”

“That’s probably true.”

— — — 

Hermione clutched at Draco’s hand as they walked into the church. Draco carried Teddy in his arms. Hermione’s parents, Narcissa, and Andromeda followed them, their footsteps crunching in the frosty grass. As they neared the church, Hermione saw two redheads among the small crowd that was gathered outside the doors.

Ginny waved at them.

“Hello, Gin!” Hermione gave her a hug. “What are you all doing here?”

Luna, Harry, Ginny and Ron were standing there, smiling. Everyone was dressed in black mourning clothes…everyone apart from Luna, who was wearing a bright silver dress. She smiled. 

“We’re here to be with you. I hope you like my dress.” She lifted the skirt to show it off. "I wore it for Draco’s birthday and Mrs Owens told me it was very pretty so I thought I should wear it today for her.”

“Oh, Luna, she would have really loved that.” Hermione’s chest tightened with affection for her friends as they all hugged.

“We didn’t know her but she was important to you both,” Ron said, a large black scarf wrapped around his throat, “and that’s reason enough for us to be here.”

Hermione kissed his cheek and pulled him and Harry into a bear-hug. She was going to face a very difficult task but she had her best friends and her loved ones with her, so it would be alright. 

— — — 

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you all for coming.” Hermione spoke from the pulpit. Draco stood at her side, a reassuring hand on her back. “We are so glad you could be here to celebrate the life of Dorothy Owens, our dear friend.”

There were a few sniffles in the crowd. Draco shuffled closer to the microphone.

“Many of you knew Dorothy well, because she was a wonderfully kind and welcoming lady. We found this out from our stay here in Churchbury. We can’t say too much about her because you probably know it all by now. However, we _did_ find something that you won’t know about, and we thought we could share it here today. Amongst her possessions were several letters written by Dorothy and Frederick Owens, all to each other, and we would like to read a couple out to you. These are from when Frederick was away in another town for a few weeks to do some carpentry work. They were written just about five or six years after the Owenses came to Churchbury, when they were young.” He cleared his throat.

_“Dearest Dorothy,_

_I miss you. It has been four days since I last heard you laugh. The town hall building is nearly done and I am working hard to finish the furniture for the grand opening in two weeks. I should be back home before then. I am writing to ask you for two things._

_Firstly, I hope you don’t mind, but the family I am staying with is suffering quite badly. They are a young mother and four children, all under the age of six. They do not have a lot of money and the father of the house was killed during the war. They have been so kind to give me a place to sleep and keep me fed while I am working here. Would you mind if I gave them a portion of the wages I will receive from this job? The town hall committee has agreed to pay me £12 for my work, so please let me know if I can give them a bit of the money. I know we agreed to save for winter clothes but I think it is important for us to show them kindness. What do you say?_

_Secondly, please take care and do not work too hard. You keep staying up late doing work in the shop and I want you to take a rest._

_I will write again when I have some money for the stamp - I had a hole in my pocket and all of my loose change slipped through!_

_With all my love,_

_Freddie_ ”

Hermione unfolded her own letter.

“This is Dorothy’s reply to Frederick.

_My darling Freddie,_

_I am resting, I promise. I am sitting in the armchair with my feet up and I have had a very lazy day as per your instructions. I miss you so much. I cannot fall asleep without you hogging the covers next to me. Please finish your work fast before I forget what you look like._

_I have enclosed the £20 we have in our savings box. Please give it to the family you are staying with, along with the pay you get from your work, (except for fare to get back home!) We can save up for new winter clothes next year. The ones we have now will last another season and I can darn any of the worn bits. The shop is doing fine and business should be better when summer comes, so we will manage. Tell the mother of the family that the money is a gift and that she must not try to pay us back._

_Be safe and come home soon. _

_I love you._

_Dorothy”_

Hermione looked up from the page with tears in her eyes. She had barely gotten through the letter without breaking down and as she looked into the crowd of people sitting in the pews, she realised she wasn’t the only one. She saw Narcissa glaring out the window in an attempt not to sob in public, and her own mother was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Ron was silently crying and his face matched his hair. Luna was smiling up at Hermione with her beautiful, kind eyes and Hermione reflected the smile back to her. Draco sniffed and she glanced over to see his cheeks wet. 

“We wanted to show you that Dorothy was the sort of person who gave without ever expecting anything in return. She and her husband lived a very quiet life in the village,” Hermione reached for Draco’s hand, “and they spent it happily. They were good, honourable people and they did a lot for the community during their time here. I am very proud that I could call her my friend and I will remember her for the rest of my life. We loved Dorothy Owens very much.”

“And,” Draco added, “we know that she would have loved to see you all here today. She hated fuss but she enjoyed parties so we’ll be having a gathering at the shop afterwards to toast to her. Please come along.”

— — — 

Hermione looked around the bookshop. Before they left for the funeral, she had used her wand to give the place a once over and it looked lovely and neat. Mrs Owens’ desk had a photo of her and Frederick placed on it, as well as a big vase of brightly coloured flowers. In fact, the whole shop was covered in bouquets of flowers. It had been Draco’s idea, after reading the letter and remembering Mrs Owens’ wish to have a house with a beautiful garden. Now, the shop was filled with the entirety of the village. Everyone was chatting, eating cake kindly supplied by the Llewellyns, and admiring the shop.

“Good job, Granger.” Draco walked up to her, handing her a slice of cake. 

“Same to you, Malfoy.” Hermione nudged his arm with her own.

“I’m glad your friends came.”

“ _Our_ friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Really, Draco.” Hermione turned to him. “They are your friends, too. You won’t be getting rid of them anytime soon.”

“I feel that I’m possibly the luckiest man in the world.” 

“Yes.” Hermione grinned. “You are.”

— — — 

After the wake, Hermione said goodbye to her friends. Her parents had been coerced into staying with Narcissa and Andromeda, and they were both so excited that Hermione thought they might pass out. Harry, Ron and Ginny went back to Hermione’s flat to Apparate home. In the months that Hermione had been alone with Mrs Owens, she had neglected to call anyone or have them over as she spent most of her time taking care of the old lady. They were making up for it now. Ginny had pulled her in for a hug and thanked her for choosing the engagement ring that sat on her finger. 

“Merlin knows what kind of crazy ring he would’ve bought me if he was left to do it himself!”

Luna has been persuaded to stay over for a few nights, because both Hermione and Draco had missed her. She was sitting on the floor of the bookshop, reading a novel, while Hermione used magic to clear away used plates and Draco made pasta upstairs. 

“Hermione?” She didn’t look up from the book, which she held upside down.

“Hmm?”

“Draco told me that Mrs Owens wrote you a letter.”

“Yes, Luna, she did. It was about her life with her husband.”

“No, another letter.”

Hermione dropped her wand to her side and frowned, before realisation hit her.

“Oh, my gods. I forgot!” She sprinted up the stairs. “Stay here, Luna, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay.”

She burst into the kitchen and ran past Draco, who was stirring sauce in a pot. He looked at her with mild concern. She dove for her little beaded bag.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out the letter addressed to them. “I forgot about this!”

“Oh, yeah. I was going to bring it up but I thought we should get through the funeral first.”

Hermione handed it to Draco.

“You open it.”

“Why me?”

“Because I got to read the other letter first.”

Draco frowned at her logic, but used his thumb to open the envelope. He unfolded a single sheet of paper and read for a minute before raising his eyes to her. Hermione’s worry was making her nauseous. 

“What’s happening? What did she say?”

“She’s given us the building.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried while writing the letters from Dorothy and Freddie. I hope you liked those little bits of their history. 
> 
> Love to you all and see you tomorrow. Three chapters left!
> 
> P.S. Does anyone know what a beta is? I hear it often in fanfiction but I'm not entirely sure what it means. Let me know, if you can!


	18. Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the pain I put you through in the last few chapters, I felt it only right to give you a nice long bit of domestic Hermione and Draco. Enjoy ❤️

A week later, Hermione was sitting with Ginny, eating ice cream on the covered bench outside the ice cream parlour. Ginny was in town for the day. It was snowing but they had cast a warming spell over themselves while they sat outside. Mrs Holloway, who owned the parlour, had begged them to stay in the shop but Hermione insisted that they were fine.

“I can’t believe you own a bloody bookshop, Hermione. It’s like your dream come true.”

“I know. But I just don’t know if it’s right.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny tugged her beanie to sit lower on her forehead. “She gave it to you and Malfoy. I mean, Draco.”

“Yes, but do we have any right over it? We knew her for such a short time.”

“Look around, Hermione. She and Frederick didn’t have any kids or relatives. You were the closest thing to her family. Don’t turn down her gift.”

Hermione nodded, looking out at the carpet of white snow that covered the village. Draco was at home, watching Teddy. She finished her ice cream and stood. 

“Come on. He’s probably tearing his hair out.”

— — — 

Teddy was at the stage where he was able to walk freely, so when Hermione entered her flat with Ginny, she found Draco running after the little boy, his face red from exertion. He looked up and glared.

“Oh, so you get to bugger off for an hour and leave me here with baby Godzilla?” He had just started watching other genres of films and his references were getting out of hand. Ginny handed him a cone of pistachio ice cream and shrugged. Teddy knocked over a pile of neatly folded laundry and giggled, his hair turning pink.

“Stop your whining, I’m taking him back to mine for the rest of the week.” Hermione had persuaded Andromeda to go abroad for a couple of weeks to rest and had volunteered to watch Teddy so that Narcissa could have a break as well. Ginny and Harry offered to take him for the second week. Ginny scooped up the little boy and blew a raspberry on his tiny belly. 

“You’re good with him. Practicing?” Hermione smiled teasingly, folding her arms as she leaned on the desk.

“Merlin’s balls, no thank you.” Ginny made a face. “I have to become the best Quidditch player in England before I bless the world with a couple of miniature Harry Potters.” At the mention of his beloved godfather, Teddy’s eyes went from brown to green.

“Ugh! I’m eating, here!” Draco looked jokingly revulsed. Ginny stuck out her tongue and put the toddler down.

“Are his things all packed?”

Draco handed her the bag of clothes and diapers that Andromeda had dropped off earlier. 

“Just call us if you need help. Andromeda’s not going to have great Floo reception when she’s in Italy because the fireplaces haven’t been serviced in centuries.”

Hermione was helping the little boy put on a tiny coat, and she wiped a smudge of jam from his cheek. 

“Be a good boy for Aunty Ginny, okay, baby boy?”

“No.” Teddy looked thrilled to disobey her, his eyes gleaming.

“ _Theodore_.” Draco’s voice was firm. The toddler’s face dropped and he stared up at Draco in awe.

“Yes yes.”

Hermione frowned. 

“Why does he only listen to you?”

Draco shrugged.

“I’m the only person in his life who isn’t averse to bribing him with sweets.”

Ginny took Teddy’s hand and they walked to the fireplace. She turned back.

“I’ll see you both at ours next Friday, yeah?”

“Take care.” Hermione hugged her friend.

“Remember, anything you own that is in his reach will get destroyed.” Draco kissed Ginny’s cheek and gave her a wry smile. She disappeared into the fireplace with Teddy and the room was quiet. Hermione flopped down on the sofa and rested her head back. She felt Draco sit beside her and she reached for his hand. 

“Alone again.”

“One week with a kid felt longer than the entire year.”

“Don’t even try to pretend. You love having him here.”

Draco pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. 

“You’re right. I’m really happy that I get to be in his life.”

Hermione pushed her nose into Draco’s neck to breathe in his perfectly Draco scent, which she had found out was a very expensive, custom-made cologne from Paris. Teddy had already broken the spare bottle kept in her bathroom.

“You’re going to be a good dad one day. Two girls and a boy, right?”

His body stiffened and he stopped stroking her hair. 

“When did you—,”

“Your mother read your mind. She told me.”

He slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. 

“Can she stay out of our business for _once_ in her life?”

— — — 

Hermione sat on the floor of her empty apartment. Draco had just gone with the last box of her possessions through the Floo to the Black house and he would be back any minute. It was the end of February and they had spent the last two months figuring out what to do about the bookshop. Draco had finally come up with a perfect plan and they had gone to the Ministry to sort out their paperwork. It would take time, but they had a concrete idea of their future and it was exciting.

“Hey.” Draco stepped into the room, twirling his wand around his fingers. He had gotten his wand permit back in December and had promptly started a fire in the kitchen, because he was unused to having control over his full magic. “Are we done?”

“Yup. I’ll hand over the keys to Mrs Llewellyn tomorrow.”

“You okay?”

Hermione nodded and looked up at him.

“Just saying goodbye to this place.”

“I’ll miss it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. First time I ever had dinner with you was in this apartment. First time we watched a movie. First time we kissed. First time we had sex. Second time we had sex. Thir—,”

“Yeah, _okay_. Thank you, I get it.” Hermione let Draco pull her up and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. 

“It’s going to be weird. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves.” Both Andromeda and Narcissa had left Churchbury. Andromeda had moved back to Surrey and Narcissa decided to go travelling around the world.

“Is it weird that your mother has a boyfriend?”

Somewhere in Copenhagen, Narcissa had met a “ _handsome, charming, completely fabulous_ ” Danish wizard who had swept her off her feet. They were gallivanting around somewhere in Thailand now. _Doing Merlin knows what,_ Draco had said, horrified. 

“I thought you promised that we wouldn’t talk about Oscar.” Draco said the name with venom and Hermione laughed into his chest. 

“They’re just having fun. Besides, he’s very good-looking.”

“ _Granger_ …”

“And she’s so happy.”

“It’s immoral.”

“Oh, shut up. Let’s go home.”

— — — 

Hermione sat on the sofa. Draco had installed a movie projector to screen films against a plain wall and she was waiting for him to come home. He had been at the store all day while she was in London on business, and had asked her if they could possibly watch Forrest Gump again when he got home. For the seventh time. She heard the pop of Apparition and he walked through the door, unwrapping the scarf around his neck.

“Hi.” She smiled, waving her fingers at him. “Dinner’s just keeping warm in the oven so we can eat whenever you’re hungry.” He bent to kiss her.

“Sure, let me just change. I want to hear about your day.”

She waited while he went into their bedroom, getting up to pour him a glass of juice. It was one of the great wonders of this house, that the fridge was magically always stocked with delicious food and drink. It replenished every few days and Hermione had no idea where the produce was coming from. 

“So,” he came up behind her and dropped a kiss to her neck, “what did you get up to in the big city?”

She turned to hand him the glass, smiling. 

“I bought about twenty-five books at Flourish and Blotts.”

“Naturally.”

“And went dress shopping with Ginny.”

“Did she find one?”

“No, but we have a better idea of what we’re looking for.”

“That’s nice.” He looked at her with as much interest on his face as he could muster for talking about wedding dresses.

“I saw Neville for lunch.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, slyly, “he’s dating Pansy Parkinson.”

“What the fuck?”

Hermione nodded her head. 

“I’m serious. They were both in Muggle London, at the same gallery, and they met and hit it off.”

“They ‘ _hit it off_ ’? What exactly do they have in common?”

“Well, for one thing, Neville’s a pure-blooded wizard, so she can actually date him without her parents completely disowning her.”

“That’s it?”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess,” she reached up to run her fingers through Draco’s hair, “they just had a connection, you know? Sometimes people who come from different backgrounds just end up clicking.” She shot him a look. “Even Pansy and Neville, who hated each other at school.”

“Oh, yes. I think I’ve heard of that sort of thing happening.” He leaned in to kiss her.

Hermione smiled against his mouth and started unbuttoning his shirt. He stilled her hands. 

“Excuse me, I thought we were having a nice dinner and movie night.” 

“Do you want me to stop?”

He sighed, theatrically, before yanking her sweater upwards and clean off her body.

“I guess Tom Hanks can wait.”

— — — 

Draco was still sleeping in the late morning when Hermione walked back into their room. He had been in London for three weeks for work and had arrived back home late the night before. She poked his cheek and he swatted her away, dead to the world. She sat beside him and pinched his nipple. He yelped and jerked upright. 

“What the hell, Granger?”

“I figured it all out.”

“What?” Draco rubbed his eyes like a little boy.

“The Frederick thing.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we actually got to the bottom of that mystery a few months ago.”

“No, I mean, the quote on his grave. And why he looked so familiar.”

“Okay, fine, go ahead.” Draco pulled her back to lie next to him and she ran her fingernails up and down his chest, getting ready to spill her information.

“So, when I first started at the store, I found this book from a university. It was about conscientious objectors during World War Two.”

“Conscientious objectors?”

“Basically, in this context, it means someone who objected to fighting in a war for religious or moral reasons.”

“Do people have a choice?”

Hermione sat up to rest her head on her elbow.

“Not people who were expected to join the Axis forces during World War Two. The quote on the gravestone was from a letter written by Franz Jägerstätter, while in jail for being anti-Nazi. He was put to death for his beliefs.”

“So, it was a clue.”

“It was. He opposed fighting the war, just like Frederick.”

“Except Frederick _did_ fight. I fought.”

Hermione brushed her fingertips across Draco’s cheek and kissed him. 

“It’s the past. You’re here with me now.”

He shifted, pulling her to lie on top of him. She placed her crossed hands across his sternum and rested her chin on them. He traced her freckles.

“What’s the second thing you found out?”

“Remember I told you that I thought I had seen him before?”

“Mmm.”

She stretched to grab a book on her bedside table and opened it. 

“I read about him in this book, _ages_ ago. When Harry and I were alone, after Ron had gone off for an extended sulk, I read it. It was a compilation of stories about missing German soldiers. I think the idea was that the missing soldiers would, were they still alive and perhaps in foreign countries with their memories missing or with long-term injuries, see their photos and stories and come back home. The book was only in print for a year. I don’t think it was very popular, for obvious reasons.”

What did you find?”

“One of the stories was written by Frederick’s mother. She had also sent in a photo of him from when he was fifteen. I knew I had recognised him from somewhere.”

Draco looked, thoughtfully, at the photo of teenaged Frederick Vogel. He looked just like he did in the photos in the apartment, but younger, with softer features and more baby fat.

“His mother never stopped hoping he would come back to her.”

“She never found out the truth. That he was alive. That he was happy.”

“I guess he could never go back home, either way.”

“But not knowing. It must have killed her.”

Hermione knew he was thinking of the ordeal his own mother went through during the Battle and she decided that she could distract him.

“Hey, I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I made French toast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I wish I had a boyfriend.


	19. The Engagement of the Century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco attend a very important engagement party in this chapter. I really wanted to give Ginny a lovely celebration, since she was the original shipper (in this fic) of Hermione and Draco. I love her character and I think she deserves so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was a joy to write. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always. Last chapter coming tomorrow! ❤️
> 
> P.S. If there are any unwritten details or things you'd like to know about that haven't been mentioned/discussed in detail in this story, please write me a comment and I'll let you know about it. I'm happy to do that for you!

It was Sunday night, and the shop was closed. Hermione was testing the Floo connection in Mrs Owens’ apartment. She had applied for the permit a month ago and finally, everything was set up. She went back and forth between the Black house and the apartment several times to make sure everything worked, before she walked back into the room. 

Draco looked up from the armchair.

“Having fun?” He set down the book he was reading and tugged her hand, yanking her onto his lap. She fell awkwardly, elbowing him in the ribs and smacking his chin with the back of her head. 

“It’s a lot more romantic in the movies, you know.” She adjusted herself to sit more comfortably across his legs. 

“I’m beginning to see that.” He wheezed, blinking back tears of pain. She looked around the room, which they had been using only as a place to drink tea after work, or to go through more of the Owenses possessions and discover new things about them. 

“We need to move all this furniture. I don’t want to give any away, so what if I shrink it and keep it in a little box?”

“Good idea.” He tried to kiss her but she tilted her head, thoughtfully. 

“I wonder if Mrs Owens would be okay with what we’re planning for her house.”

“I think she’d be thrilled.”

Hermione rested her ear to Draco’s chest and was reminded of doing the same two years ago, although under very different circumstances. 

“Can you ask me something? I’ve been wondering about it because we've never talked about it.”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember the battle?”

“I think it would be obvious that I do.”

She toyed with a button on his shirt. 

“No, what I mean is, do you remember when I found you?”

“I do.”

“What do you remember of it? Of getting hurt? All I know is what I saw, and what Fred told Ron about you saving his life.”

He took a deep breath and she rose and fell with his chest. 

“I remember,” he tilted his head up to look at the ceiling fan, “that I had dragged Greg up the stairs to get him away from Rookwood. We weren’t bleeding so bad then. Actually, I didn’t even realise I was bleeding. Greg took the brunt of the spell, so much so that I hadn’t noticed it hit me too. When he was lying on the floor, dying, I tried to pull out my wand and found that I couldn’t think straight, and then I was on the floor, too. I don’t know how long I was there, but then I heard your voices. Yours and Ginny’s.”

“You should have called out to us.”

“I didn’t want you to find me.”

She pushed away from his body, appalled.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. 

“I was ready to die. I thought I could just close my eyes and it would end, and then I heard you. I heard Ginny ask you if you were okay, and I suddenly needed to see you. From what she had said, I could understand that you had gotten hurt, so I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”

“I heard you cough.”

“That wasn’t an accident.”

“When I saw you, I felt like I was going to start crying.” Hermione blinked back hot tears that were threatening to spill. “You were so still and so pale. I was really scared that you were going to die. I had so many regrets.”

“Regrets?”

“You know. Things I wanted to tell you during sixth-year, things I wish I had done.”

“Like what?”

“Like telling you how much our chats meant to me, and telling you how happy I was that you were treating me so kindly, and, not seeing that you were clearly suffering from the task you had been set by Voldemort, and” she blushed, thankful he couldn’t see her face, “I really regretted not telling you how badly I wanted you to kiss me.”

“I knew this already.”

She shut her eyes.

“Yes, because you’re a prying, sneaky jerk.”

“Can I tell you something?” He stroked his hand down her spine and she shivered.

“Mmhmm.”

“I wanted to kiss you, too. Every time we talked in sixth. I literally sat on my hands so I wouldn’t try to grab you.”

“You should have.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Just…” he shook his head, a sad look on his face. “I have my regrets, too.”

She gave him a sly smile and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“You can make it up to me now.”

His expression was serious as he held her face in his hands, staring at her intently.

“I love you, Granger.”

She nudged his nose with her own.

“I love _you_ , Malfoy.”

Draco captured her mouth with his and kissed her so deeply that she nearly slid off his legs and onto the floor.

“Wait.”

He froze. 

“What’s wrong?”

“We can’t have sex here. Not in their private home. It’s just so,” she looked around, her gaze settling on a photo of Dorothy and Frederick smiling at them, “disrespectful.”

“Okay.”

He nudged her to stand up and when he got to his feet, he held onto her arm and Disapparated. Hermione squinted to see where she was. They had come…downstairs. She glared at him in the dark. 

“What are we doing here?”

“Christening our new shop. Kind of necessary, I think.” 

She pulled out her wand and cast a _Lumos_. He waved his own wand at a stack of books and transfigured them into a soft blanket and a large pile of giant pillows. 

“More like _desecrating_ it.” She put one hand on her hip. “Drac—oof!” 

He cut her off by gently pushing her back onto the pillows and following her down with a gleam in his eye.

— — — 

Draco smacked a loud kiss against Hermione’s collarbone before collapsing to the floor beside her. 

“Good show, Granger.”

She caught her breath. 

“Maybe,” she said, giving him a sideways glance, glad that he couldn’t see her, “we can desecrate the shop __every__ weekend.”

— — — 

Hermione stood with Ron and Isobel, politely listening to Isobel talk about her curtain fabric. She bit back a smile as Draco and Luna passed by her on the dance floor, Draco dressed in immaculate midnight blue robes, Luna looking like a giant Pygmy Puff in a humongous, billowing pink dress that was both alarming and hilarious. She solemnly did a twirl, focusing on her steps with the utmost concentration. 

“Hey, mind if I borrow Hermione for a second?” Ginny asked, pulling on Hermione’s elbow. Hermione nodded at Ron and Isobel before turning to follow Ginny. 

“You can thank me for saving you now.”

“What?”

“Oh, come off it. Isobel is _the_ most boring person I’ve ever met.”

“But they’re happy.” Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t start laughing. She smoothed down her floor-length pale blue dress. It had been a gift from Narcissa, who was currently holding hands with Oscar and ignoring Draco’s sulky glares in her direction. 

“Which is why I’m bloody thankful that I’m marrying Harry and not her.”

It was Ginny and Harry’s engagement party. According to Rita Skeeter, it was “ _THE ENGAGEMENT OF THE CENTURY! Details on page 2”_. Everyone was at the Weasley family house, outside in the same marquee that had been used for Fleur and Bill’s wedding. Mrs Weasley was going spare trying to keep George from sneaking Nosebleed Nougats onto unsuspecting guests’ plates. Harry had practically begged for a simple party, but that plan had quickly escalated into a fancy, black-tie event, with a string quartet and white satin tablecloths. Hermione had tried to explain to him that every caterer, wedding planner and robes maker in the wizarding world would be throwing themselves down at the feet of the Boy Who Lived in order to have the honour of taking part in his wedding festivities. Ginny had taken full advantage of the gifted services and was currently shoving her face full of hors d’oeuvres that had been specially brought in from Paris. Hermione swirled the champagne in her glass and smiled. 

“You’re enjoying yourself, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re happy?”

“Hermione,” Ginny wiped a smear of cream off her top lip, “I am _so_ happy that I could burst. Honestly,” she leaned in, looking ecstatic, “I could have gone without all of this and it would be completely fine. The food, the music, this dress.” She gestured to her beautiful white ball gown, that had over a thousand tiny chips of diamond hand-sewn into the underside of the fabric to make it shimmer ethereally. She was a vision and Harry had choked on his words when he had first seen her today. “I’m just really excited to get married to Harry. I love him so fucking much.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Hermione felt her heart flutter with second-hand happiness. She was so grateful that Harry was getting his happy-ever-after with Ginny, especially after everything he had gone through. Fred tapped on her shoulder. 

“Mind if I borrow the maid of honour for a quick cha-cha around the dance floor?”

“No, but I want her back in one piece. Do you hear me?”

“Are you doubting my dancing skills, sis?” Fred looked affronted.

“ _Yes_.”

Hermione took Fred’s outstretched hand and let him pull her into a slow dance. He looked down at her, his normally comedic face serious. 

“What?”

“So, it’s Malfoy, then, huh?”

“Oh. Uh, yes.” She wondered where this was going, but she didn’t have to be worried, because Fred nodded, smiling.

“Good. He’s a solid chap. I approve.”

“Thanks, Fred.” She smirked. He made a face.

“Godric’s great-aunt, you even smile like him. That’s really disturbing, Hermione.”

She stepped on his toe. 

— — — 

It was the anniversary of the day that Hermione had first moved to Churchbury and Draco surprised her with a bouquet of flowers on her bedside table when she woke up. He then tried to make pancakes and burnt them so badly that they ate cereal for breakfast. The day passed uneventfully at the shop, but they had very sexy plans to watch _The Untouchables_ on the couch later that night. Hermione neatly wrapped an instructional gardening book about winter flowers and handed it to her customer, who thanked her.

“You’re very welcome.”

“I can’t wait to bring my husband here.”

“Oh, please do. We’re open every day apart from Sundays.” Draco winked at her from where he was standing on a ladder, leaning on a bookshelf. She tried to resist the blush that was threatening to spread across her neck and cheeks.

“We will. Um, I was wondering if the tea shop next door is any good?”

“Oh, yes. The best scones in the countryside.” Draco called out, pulling a book from the shelf with a cocky grin. “Actually, they’ve got the __most__ wonderful waitress there, don’t you think, Hermione? Lovely girl. So friendly. Fantastic service.”

She would hex him later but she settled for levelling him with a murderous glare. The lady left the store and Hermione sank back into her chair, logging the sale in her ledger. The shop was quiet and they went about their business for another hour, and then Hermione lifted her wand to lock the front door and turn the sign from “OPEN” to “CLOSED”. She sighed and closed her ledger, standing to crack her neck.

Draco came downstairs with two mugs of tea. She took one, giving him a look. 

“Why don’t you go and have tea next door?” She turned to put her tea down on the desk to cool. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” He set down his own mug and hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Hermione’s jeans, pulling her back to him. She turned, grinning, and pulled his head to hers to kiss him. He reached down to lift her up by her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles. Before they got too heated and spent another night on, she pulled back and stroked his hair, smoothing it down.

“Let’s go home and continue this conversation.”

He set her down and looked as if a forgotten thought struck him.

“Actually, I was meaning to show you this book, but it slipped my mind when you got busy with that busload of tourists. I thought you’d like it.” He walked over to a high shelf and pulled down a small book. He handed it to her. “Bit of an issue though,” he sounded warily apologetic, “because some kid left a giant wad of chewing gum inside and it’s stuck to the pages. You think you can get it out? I don't want to risk ripping the paper.”

Hermione stared down at the beautiful first-edition copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , her mouth hanging open. She could feel the odd lump in the book that was making it unable to close properly.

“Firstly, I cannot believe I’m holding this, and secondly, I cannot believe that some horrid little child _ruined_ it! No respect!” She delicately opened the cover, flipping the pages to find where the offending gum was stuck, and she gasped. There, in the middle of the book, lay a delicate ring made of white gold and diamonds. She snapped her head in Draco’s direction to find him down on one knee, looking both hopeful and nauseously nervous.

“The whole village already thinks we’re engaged, so why not make it official? Will you marry me, Hermione?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> Did you think it was about Ginny's engagement only? 😉
> 
> How did you like it? Let me know, and thank you for reading ❤️


	20. Carina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my friends. Chapter 20, the last one! The finale! 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> I am so pleased that I started this story because I now have an incredible community around me! You guys are amazing and I hope you enjoy how the story ends. I loved writing it and I hope you loved reading it. It was such a challenge for me to write a chapter every day, but it turned out to be a really good exercise. I love writing, and I am so happy to share my work with you.
> 
> If you're sad it's over, I'd suggest you look closely at the top of the page because...
> 
> There will be more stories in this universe! It's called "The Countryside and Other Stories" series. I want to explore alternate POVs, other characters and other stories that haven't been discussed intricately within this story. If you like, you can subscribe to the series so you get a notification when I post something new! And please let me know if there is a character you want to know more about, I will take it into account. 
> 
> Remember, I love to hear from you so please leave a comment here on AO3 or on my Tumblr (nztina). 
> 
> Enjoy, my friends! Lots of love xxx

_ Five-ish years later: _

Hermione left the bakery with a large packet of assorted rolls for the dinner party and walked down to the bookshop. She was tired after a long day in London and all she wanted to do was have a cup of tea. Walking down the path, she stopped and stood, looking at The Churchbury Second-Hand Bookshop (and Apothecary). The second bit of the shop’s name was only visible to the magical people who passed through the village. In the year after Hermione and Draco inherited the shop, they got Ministry permission to have a Floo entrance to the apothecary they set up in the old apartment. This meant their magical customers could appear right upstairs instead of having to come through the village inconspicuously. They spent months getting ready for the opening of their new venture, and it took many late nights of brewing up potions, tonics and treatments before they felt ready to open. It turned out to be a stroke of business-minded brilliance, and the apothecary was inundated with customers who were unwilling to face busy Wizarding London to purchase potions and ingredients. 

Hermione spent most of her time downstairs in the bookshop, reading, attending to customers and writing novels for both the Muggle and Wizarding community. Her first Muggle non-fiction book, “ _With All My Love_ ” was a compendium of love letters sent between many couples during World War Two. It was dedicated to “ _Dorothy & Frederick, who taught me that love overcomes all odds._” Her second book was " _The Dramatic Yet Unexaggerated Events of The Second Wizarding War”_ , and Minerva McGonagall had already implemented it into the coursework for History of Magic classes. She was working on her third book at the moment.

Draco thrived in his apothecary. He had been a gifted Potions student at Hogwarts and knew he wanted to pursue it, even though his choices had become limited during the war. After obtaining his Mastery in Potions, he worked hard to become one of the most respected Potioneers in England. He was often asked back to Hogwarts to hold special classes for exceedingly bright Potions students. After his first lesson, with a class of fourth- and fifth-years, he went home and owled all of his previous Hogwarts professors apology notes for being such a monster in school. 

Hermione’s parents continued to visit the village every month to stock up on jams, relishes, and to see their daughter and son-in-law. Narcissa Black moved to the south of France with Oscar and was currently in the process of designing her own clothing line. At Hermione and Draco’s wedding reception, Draco tried to sneak a drop of Veritaserum into Oscar’s wine glass and was accidentally foiled by Neville. The poor fellow had mistakenly drunk from the wrong glass and spent the evening telling everyone (including Pansy) that he was surprising Pansy on her birthday with a trip to Mallorca.

Andromeda continued to raise Teddy, but every month, either Ginny and Harry or Draco and Hermione would have him to stay for a week. He had a designated bedroom in both their houses and was beloved by his large and slightly bizarre family. Draco and Harry were already discussing their plans to turn him into the best Seeker in Hogwarts history, even though he was seven years old. 

Hermione and Draco left the shop in Luna’s care for six months to go travelling around the world after their wedding. Luna and Rolf loved the village so much that they moved there permanently. Rolf became Draco’s best friend, even though Draco insisted on giving him a “ _if you hurt her, I’ll kill you_ ” speech at his wedding to Luna. Ginny and Harry had a baby two years after they got married, and were now expecting their second. Ginny did go on to become the best Quidditch player in England, and Harry had been promoted to the Head Auror position at the Ministry four years into the job, honours that didn’t even come close to the pride they felt as parents to a son that would never have to grow up knowing anything but peace and love. Ron was still toeing around the idea of asking Isobel to marry him. There was a bet to see if he would actually ever do it. Both Harry and Draco had put in twenty Galleons, to Hermione’s chagrin. 

Hermione happily watched her friends and family grow and expand their lives from the tranquil quiet of her little village. Not once did she miss the bustle and chaos of living in London. She pushed open the door of the book shop and Draco looked up from the desk, his expression unwaveringly calm. 

“Hello there, miss. Can I help you?”

Hermione pretended to give the store a once over before coming over to where he sat. 

“Oh, no, thank you, just looking.”

He stood and leaned over the desk, kissing her firmly. 

“How was your day?”

“ _Busy_. I was with my publisher for ages going over titles for the next book.”

“Muggle or—,”

“No, Alison from Diagon Publishers Inc. She was _very_ determined that we settle the name before final revisions. Anyway, I got the bread you asked for. Everything done for the party?”

Draco nodded. “The caterer is coming in an hour and a half, and the house is ready.”

“Did Neville say they were coming? Pansy’s been nauseous for the past week, I didn’t know if she’d make it.”

“No, he owled. She’s apparently dead set on coming, even if she throws up the whole evening.”

“That sounds like her. I wonder what kind of mother she’ll be.” 

“What about your parents? I thought they were going to come for the weekend.”

“No, they called me about ten minutes before I got back to the village to let us know that they’re going to New Orleans with your mother and Oscar tonight. It was apparently a spur of the moment decision. I don’t know when they became such international jet-setters but it’s quite funny.”

Draco rolled his eyes and huffed. “ _Oscar_.” He mumbled something under his breath before asking, “Want a cup of tea?”

“You read my mind.” She winked at him, since he probably had. She had given him permission to go through her thoughts as he got better at Legilimency. She had no secrets to hide from him.“How did you go today?”

“Oh, not bad. Had a busload of Italian tourists come through.”

“Not you, silly.” Hermione walked over to the other side of the desk and bent down, smiling.

“ _You!_ ”She lifted her four-month-old baby from where she was reclining in the bouncer on the floor. “Hello, my sweet little angel! Look at you, with your nice booties on. Did you behave well today?”

Draco let out a small laugh.

“Ha! I don’t think so. She bawled for about an hour after you left and then finally settled down when Mother came to drop off some of her latest designs for you to try on. She also bought her a tiny dress that cost 100 Galleons, so be prepared for her to grow up into the most spoilt teenager in the world.”

Hermione kissed the baby’s small cheeks, cradling her against her chest. Draco ran his fingers through his daughter’s soft hair.

“She’s pretty calm right now. Did you give her a bottle?”

“An hour ago. I’ll be back in a minute.” He released the tiny blonde curl of hair that was gently twisted around his finger, then proceeded to walk upstairs. Hermione looked down at her baby and felt the dark cloud of guilt in her chest fizzle away when her daughter smiled up at her.

Carina Dorothy Granger-Malfoy was born two minutes past midnight on the 10th of March, 2005, during the month when the constellation _Carina_ was brightest in the Southern night sky. When she was old enough, her parents would explain to her why her last name had to be Black when she was in the village, but to all who knew her, she was just darling Carina, the apple of her father’s eye and her mother’s most precious treasure. 

Draco had passed out when he was given the baby to hold for the first time. Thankfully, the Mediwitch was used to panicky first-time fathers and had levitated the newborn as her father hit the floor. Hermione made sure that her mother took a photo of Draco lying unconscious with the Mediwitch cradling the baby above him and Hermione holding up her fists with her thumbs up and a grin on her face. The photo had a permanent place hanging on the wall behind the piano, right next to the painting Mrs Owens gave Draco for his birthday long ago. Today was the first day since her daughter’s birth that Hermione had gone out alone.

“How was your day, darling?” She rocked back and forth on the spot. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you for most of it, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” She tickled the baby’s nose and ran her finger down her little chin. “Did you have a nice day with your Daddy? You’re going to see all of your aunties and uncles tonight, isn’t that exciting?”

Carina had Draco’s hair colour and Hermione’s eyes, and she was the most beautiful child that either parent had ever seen. Naturally. She was born five weeks too early, but she was healthy and had a fantastic pair of lungs. The first two months of her life would have been impossible if not for Hermione and Draco’s mothers helping out the new family. While keeping an eye on their children and granddaughter, two women had quickly become the best of friends. Narcissa often surprised Claire with random trips abroad. Last month, Claire had come back home from Italy with a suitcase full of jams. Narcissa continually tried to get her to dress in more fashionable clothing but Claire Granger was as practical as her daughter and recently accompanied Narcissa to Milan Fashion Week, while wearing Birkenstocks. As far as grandparents went, Carina’s grandmothers and grandfather loved her more than they ever loved their own children. This was something they told both Hermione and Draco several times, and neither knew if it was said in a joking manner. 

“Here, love.” Draco came downstairs and set Hermione’s mug of tea on the table before taking Carina, bobbing her up and down as she grizzled. Hermione took her tea and sat on the edge of the desk, watching her husband and baby daughter talk to each other. Draco used words, Carina used her dimpled fists, a string of nonsensical babble and drool. Hermione hadn’t thought her happiness could increase after she got married, but watching Draco become a father was one of the greatest joys of her life. He was as good a father as Lucius had been a bad one. 

From the day she had told him that she was pregnant (she gave him a DVD called “ _Bringing Up Baby_ ”, and it had the positive Muggle pregnancy test inside in place of a disc), he had not let Hermione do anything more strenuous than walk to the bakery, read or watch movies. After her second trimester, he had even persuaded Luna to come over occasionally and keep an eye on her in the shop while he was upstairs with customers in the apothecary. 

Draco had become so devoted to their daughter once she was born that Hermione often wondered if she was just the food supply part of their parenting team. Carina stretched out a small hand, waving it towards her mother and Hermione stepped forward, letting her daughter grasp her finger.

“We really lucked out, didn’t we, Granger?”

“We did.” Hermione pushed up on her toes to kiss Draco without squishing the baby between them.

“I sometimes wonder how we got here, from where we started.”

“We had a few guardian angels. I think they’re smiling down on us.” She said, looking at the photograph of Frederick and Dorothy that they had put on Dorothy’s desk. 

Draco pointed the baby towards the photo and lifted her hand to wave at the couple. 

“Say good afternoon to your great-grandparents, darling!” He waved her hand and she hiccuped. 

— — — 

Harry and Ginny came through the Floo with James, who ran straight out to the garden. Ginny’s baby bump was showing and she looked exhausted. 

“Sorry we’re late, James decided to streak, buck naked, across the neighbourhood just as we were leaving.”

Hermione hugged her friends hello and took the wine bottle that Harry held out to her. She led them outside to the patio, where everyone was gathered for drinks and appetisers. It was a quiet summer evening and the lake in front of the house was still. Luna walked over to them, holding Carina against her shoulder and Ginny cooed at the baby as she hugged Luna.

“Hey, Luna, how are you? Where are the boys?” Harry pecked her cheek, and she smiled. 

“I’m good, Harry. They’re upstairs, sleeping. I need to go check on them, actually. Ginny, do you want to hold her?” She held the little girl out to Ginny and wandered inside.

“Oh my goodness, she just gets more adorable every time I see her. I’m going to kidnap her one day, I’m warning you.” Ginny left the group to go sit down and on a bench next to Neville, who turned to talk to her. A few minutes later, Draco came out to the garden, levitating two trays in front of him. Luna came back downstairs and took her seat next to Rolf, who was animatedly describing a crocodile to Ron and Isobel.

“Okay, everyone, grab a glass.” Hermione instructed.

Draco had two glasses of fruit juice in his hands and he gave them to Ginny and Pansy. He came to stand next to Hermione, his hand on her back. 

“Welcome to our annual memorial party, everyone. I’m sorry we couldn’t throw it back in May when we were supposed to, but we were a little busy with the trouble-maker over there.” He tilted his glass to where Carina was sitting happily on Ginny’s lap, drooling onto her aunt’s hands. Everyone chuckled, nodding. Most of them were new parents and they understood the struggle. 

“So, we’re two months late, but we want to celebrate with you all today.” Hermione lifted her glass to the group. “Please raise you glass for all of the people we lost during the war, all of the brave sacrifices that were made, and for all of the wonderful friends we have here tonight.”

Everyone toasted and clinked glasses. Harry pulled out the parchment from his pocket and stood, facing everyone. This was a part of the tradition amongst their friend circle. Every time they gathered to remember the war, he read out the names of the people that had died. He had started to do it to face the guilt he felt, but it had been a therapeutic exercise for them all. Seven years on, it was necessary.

“Alright then. Let’s start, shall we?” He paused, giving a small, private smile to Ron and Hermione, which they returned. “Nymphadora Tonks. Remus Lupin. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown…”

— — — 

Hermione waved her wand and the dishes dried off and obediently stacked themselves back in the cabinet. Draco walked in from the dining room, Carina sleeping in one arm, a pair of tiny shoes in his other hand. 

“James left his trainers here. I’ll send them back tomorrow.”

“How didn’t we notice when they left?”

Draco shook his head, shrugging, and placed them on the mantel above the fireplace, before laying Carina down in the Moses basket on the floor. He sat on the rug next to her, his knees drawn up to his chest. 

“Tonight went well. No-one cried.”

“Maybe because it wasn’t the _exact_ anniversary?”

Hermione shook her head. 

“I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s because we’ve had quite some time away from it, you know? We aren’t in the eye of the storm anymore.”

“Closure.”

“Exactly.” She came to sit in between his legs, leaning her back against his chest. They stared at their daughter in silence for a few moments, before Hermione turned to kiss Draco. He grinned at her. 

“What was that for?”

“To say thank you.”

“For?”

“For our life.”

“I think you had a pretty big part to play in it.”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t come up to talk to me at Mrs Owens’ book stall six years ago.”

Draco considered it. 

“That’s true. You’re right, Granger. I am single-handedly responsible for our relationship working out.”

“You’re so lucky that I love you.”

“I know.” His teasing expression fell into seriousness for a brief moment. “I’m the luckiest man alive.” He kissed her softly, only stopping when they heard Carina make a little mewling noise in her sleep. As they broke apart to look at her, Hermione ran her hand up and down Draco’s arm. 

“We have about two hours before she wakes up again. What do you want to do?”

“I have an idea.” He raised an eyebrow, suggestively. She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Come on, Granger. We never get to anymore!”

“ _Fine_.”

“Okay, great!” he stood, pulling her up with him. “You get the blankets and the chocolate, I’ll choose the movie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I hope you liked the ending of this story. 
> 
> Some notes for you: 
> 
> \- Carina will grow up calling her parent's friends "Aunty ___" and "Uncle ___" because that's just how it's gonna be. 
> 
> \- Narcissa and Oscar aren't going to get married, because she decided that once was enough. Oscar supports this.
> 
> \- I haven't decided what house Carina will be in.
> 
> That's all for now. I'll probably think of more things later but I'll work them into extra little stories for this series. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all of you. ❤️
> 
> See you very soon for new stories. The next one will be a flashback. 😉

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how you liked this chapter!


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